


Sweet Caroline

by BlueMasquerade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Carpenter!Dean, DCBB 2018, M/M, no supernatural, past mentally abusive relationship, small town AU, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMasquerade/pseuds/BlueMasquerade
Summary: When Castiel Novak discovers he’s unexpectedly inherited a farmhouse outside small town Caroline, Kansas, he decides it’s an opportunity to make some major changes in his life. As the youngest son in the powerful Novak family, he’s always been sheltered and expected to do as he was told. His one prior attempt at independence ended disastrously, destroying his innocence and trust. If he had his way, he’d be the old recluse in the spooky old house. Unfortunately, the house needs some major repairs to be livable.Fortunately Caroline has a jack of all trades who’s available to help with all of the things Cas doesn’t know how to do – for a price. Dean Winchester apparently either knows how to do everything himself, or knows someone. Everything would be wonderful, if only Dean would stop chipping away at the walls Cas so carefully built.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is... my story for the 2018 DCBB! It's been a pleasure to participate in this year's challenge. Many thanks to the mods, Muse and Jojo, and also to the other participants who create such wonderful stories and art.
> 
> My artist this year is koisocks... her art is here: http://koisocks.tumblr.com/post/179634550236/read-the-cutest-story-and-it-was-so-nice-and

Great Aunt Hester’s house stood at the end of a long tree-lined drive, a gracious lady who was showing her age. The house was a modified Victorian farmhouse with a wraparound porch, a turret, and some decorative gingerbread trim. Her creamy white paint was peeling, and the trim had probably once been gray but might have been blue or even green. Castiel didn't clearly remember that detail from the last time he'd been there, when he couldn't have been more than eight. The flower beds surrounding the house were dead this time of year, but looked as though they hadn't been well tended for years.

When the family had arrived in the town of Caroline, Kansas for Great Aunt Hester’s funeral, Michael had immediately declared the place a dilapidated ruin good for nothing more than tearing it down and plowing it under, then selling the land if they could find a buyer. He was of the opinion that getting any sort of money for the place would be a challenge, but it would be an insurance liability if they just left it there. Lucifer thought they should burn it down; he'd always had a fascination with fire. Gabriel kept making jokes about bats in the belfry, referring to Hester herself, who had been known as an eccentric. Castiel himself said nothing at all, staying outside as much as he could, reading up in the turret when it was too cold to sit in the broken down gazebo out back. Still, he thought there was something soothing and friendly about the place, even if none of his brothers could see it.

Great Aunt Hester hadn't been close to the family. Castiel wasn’t sure exactly what had happened; he was the youngest in the family, and rarely had anything been explained to him. He didn’t know why they stopped visiting her, stopped coming to Kansas. Didn’t know why his father had left, didn’t know why his mother was still physically present but hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. Ever. She had remained in Chicago rather than attend the funeral, claiming ill health. Castiel rather thought she just wanted nothing to do with Great Aunt Hester even now. She’d been his father’s aunt, not his mother’s. Michael had left his wife Rebekah and his sons behind as well.

Right now, he didn’t really know why they had come for the funeral either, or even how they had been notified. He did know, however, that he liked it here. It felt right. Soothing.

He wasn’t looking forward to leaving again.

The service was on their second day in Kansas. There was a stream of people from Caroline who came to pay their respects. Luc thought it was morbid curiosity about the old lady’s house rather than any genuine caring. Castiel wasn’t so sure, but then he spent most of the time either in the turret room or out in the gazebo rather than interacting, so how would he know? Being around that many strangers wasn’t an option. Gabriel brought him a plate from the food people had brought, some sort of rice and hamburger dish, another with odd cylindrical diced potatoes -- _they’re tater tots, Cassie, how can you not know that? --_ and a selection of desserts. There was a chocolate chip cookie, a brownie, a slice of cherry pie.

Castiel saved those for later. He wasn’t particularly hungry, though he appreciated the two bottles of water that Gabriel had stuffed in his pockets. He thought he might look up that recipe with the tater tots. It was strangely delicious, and he liked to cook. He found cooking soothing, the repetitive motions, the concrete result at the end. He needed to eat, so it was practical too.

He didn’t emerge from the turret room until long after dark, when the sounds in the old house had settled to the soft conversation of a very few voices. Even so, he ghosted through the hallways quietly, following the voices, listening to place them. Michael, with his confidence and authority, leaving no room for questions. Luc, with his dry sarcasm and cruel wit. Gabriel, making a joke out of everything, with that undertone of frustration whenever he had to deal with the two eldest.

“We’re heading back to the hotel now, Castiel,” Michael said. “Get your things together.”

“I want to stay here,” he said quietly.

Michael looked down his nose, frowning faintly at having his will questioned.

“Nonsense, there’s no reason to stay here. It’s musty and dank and dreary.”

“I’ll stay too,” Gabriel said, moving slightly to stand beside him. Gabriel was a handful of inches shorter than Castiel, physically smaller and less fit, but he had a way of making Castiel feel safer. Gabriel was the only one who had ever really paid any attention to what Castiel liked.

“Oh, let them stay, Mikey,” Luc drawled. “We’re heading back to Chicago after the reading tomorrow anyhow. If the boys want to play camp in the spooky house, let them.”

Castiel and Gabriel exchanged a brief look, but mostly Castiel looked at his feet, or the baseboard across the floor from where he stood. They were nice baseboards, deep, with decorative trim, though like much of the woodwork in the house they had been painted. This time it was a strange sickly yellow, close but not quite the same shade as the centers of the flowers on the wallpaper.

“Very well, then,” Michael finally said. “But don’t call me in a couple hours complaining that all of the sheets are moth-eaten and everything smells funny.”

Gabriel grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it, bro.” He clapped Castiel’s shoulder hard enough to rock him on his feet. “See ya in the morning.”

 * * *

The house was even more peaceful after Michael and Luc left in the rental car, though Gabriel was running on and on about random topics ranging from whether there really were bats in the belfry here to the contents of the cupboards to whether the ancient refrigerator would live through the night. Castiel simply let him talk, rarely responding. It was a rhythm he was accustomed to and didn’t disturb him.

After a meal consisting of food left over from the gathering after the funeral, Castiel traced his hand over the spines of the books in Great Aunt Hester’s library, pulling one at random and bringing it with him to the front room, settling into a wing chair upholstered with roses and with a lace antimacassar draped over the back. It too smelled a little musty, with a faint lingering fragrance of lily of the valley.

Gabriel plopped down on the threadbare Persian rug, sitting cross-legged in front of Castiel, and pulling a lollipop out of his pocket. He unwrapped it carefully, then dramatically inserted it into his mouth. “Mm. Strawberry lemonade. I’ve got some more; you want one?”

Castiel arched a brow at him, but then returned to the book. It was a book of poetry. Not particularly good poetry, he thought, but interesting nonetheless.

“Ooookay then, no lollipops for Cassie. So. You going to tell me why you wanted to spend the night here? They’re right about the possibility of the bedding not exactly being up to snuff. Though I suppose I could check on it, maybe run them through the wash. Assuming Great Aunt Hester has a dryer here. I could see her hanging them out on the line to dry, even in the middle of winter. Having to let them thaw before she could tuck them under the mattress.”

Castiel looked at his brother. “It’s peaceful here,” he said. “I like it.”

“Better than spending the night with Mikey and Luc back at the hotel, I suppose.” Gabriel knew how to handle the two of them better than Castiel did, but Castiel suspected even he found it exhausting. “I’d be shocked they even chose to come to the funeral, but we both know it’s all about the reading of the will tomorrow. Family rumor has it Hester was loaded, even if she chose to live in a tiny town in the back of beyond, in a house that’s practically crumbling around her.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Hate to break it to you, but it really is. There’s rotting boards on the porch, the windows are all drafty, and the lights in the kitchen flicker. I’m afraid to turn on the stove. I could go on. And on. And on.”

“You could, but you won’t. I still like it here.”

There was a fleeting look in Gabriel’s eyes, somewhere between pity and understanding, which Castiel didn’t want to acknowledge. He didn’t want Gabriel’s pity, though his understanding and concern… well, it was quite possible that Gabriel was the only one who bothered to care, and Castiel treasured that.

“Yeah, okay.” Gabriel licked and sucked at the pink lollipop for a little while, considering, bouncing his knee, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “Do you remember coming here, when we were kids?”

“Only vaguely,” Castiel admitted. “I remember the woods behind the house, and there’s a stream somewhere back there, too. I think there were frogs, and mud.”

Gabriel laughed. “Oh yeah. Frogs and mud, and you watching them all seriously, and getting upset when Luc captured the frog you were observing and pulled on its legs.”

“There was no need to injure the frog.”

“He did let it go. Surprised me, honestly.” He didn’t always resist the urge to be needlessly cruel.

“Why did we never return?” Castiel quietly asked.

Gabriel twirled the stick between his lips. “Not sure,” he admitted. “I think Luc did something to upset Hester and we weren’t welcome any longer. Maybe it was only Luc that wasn’t welcome, but…” His voice trailed away.

Castiel didn’t need the words to fill in the rest of the sentence. That was the last summer before their father took off, and everything changed. Suddenly Michael was making the decisions for their family, and while he and Luc were constantly butting heads with each other, somehow they always stood together against anyone else. If Luc wasn’t welcome, none of the Novaks would be traveling to Kansas.

They were, however, Hester Novak Albright’s only living relatives.

“I liked her,” Castiel said eventually, after Gabriel had gone to find the washer and dryer and get the bedding tossed into the laundry. The sounds the machines made were vaguely alarming, but they did seem to be working.

“Hester?”

“Yes. She was kind, and she smelled good. She had a kitten.” It had been a black kitten with a white stripe in the center of its forehead, and white paws, and white on the tip of its tail. It had taken a liking to Castiel, following him around the house, and curling up in his lap when he sat in the turret room, soaking up the sunshine while he read a book.

“Oh, yeah. I remember the kitten. You always wanted a cat.”

Yes. But by then he’d realized that having a cat in the same house as Luc was not a good idea, no matter how much he might have liked it. And then, later, there were other impediments.

He sighed.

Gabriel reached out to pat his knee, then stood up. “I think there are still some brownies. You want one?”

“The ones with the caramel?”

“Yeah. I think there are some of the mint ones, too. I wonder if brownies are always a thing here, or if it’s just coincidence? Do you think I should branch into baked goods, too? Brownies are good.”

“I’ll have one with caramel, thank you. And no, you shouldn’t branch into baked goods, too. You’re not set up for that, and it would take a large investment.”

“Spoilsport.”

 * * *

Michael and Luc returned in the late morning, carrying Styrofoam cups of hot coffee. “Didn’t think to bring us any, huh?” Gabriel groused. “Or, you know, hot chocolate. Coffee shops usually sell hot chocolate too. With whipped cream. And sprinkles.”

“The lawyer should be arriving soon,” Michael said, ignoring Gabriel. “Make sure the table is cleaned off, Castiel.”

Castiel stood up and went to find the cleanser and some paper towels. By the time he’d finished polishing what was actually a lovely table, the lawyer had arrived. He straightened, feeling his shoulders tense and his pulse race.

He recalled the conversation Michael and Luc had about the small-town Kansas lawyer on the trip from Chicago. Apparently this Samuel Winchester had gotten his law degree from Stanford, worked for two years for a prestigious West Coast firm, but for some reason had left California to practice in Caroline, Kansas. Luc insisted that meant that he’d washed up and couldn’t hack working for a ‘real’ law firm. Michael didn’t disagree.

Castiel tried not to listen, instead losing himself in the e-book he’d brought along. The easiest way to handle the way Michael and Luc made him feel was to simply absent himself, physically if possible, mentally if he was stuck in the same room. It had taken him years to learn that trick, and it didn’t always work, but at least most of the time it kept his stomach from roiling.

Gabriel looked over to check on him just as he stood.

“You need to be here, Castiel,” Michael said without looking up from his phone.

Castiel froze, torn between the desire to escape having to be around this new, unfamiliar person and the unpleasantness derived from not complying with Michael's wishes. He tried to split the difference by standing in the doorway between the formal dining room and the kitchen, more on the kitchen side but still noticeably present. Gabriel reached out to brush his hand against Castiel’s side, a tangible, physical proof that he was there, too. Castiel nodded.

Luc answered the door. “Hello, Mr. Novak. I’m Sam Winchester, Mrs. Albright’s lawyer. We met at the service, but I know there were a lot of people there. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Castiel angled his head around the door frame to spot the lawyer. He was tall, very tall. Castiel himself was taller than his brothers, just a little in the case of Michael and Luc, more so with Gabriel, but this man was at least half a head taller, with hair longer than he would have expected from a conservative lawyer. He did at least anticipate that the man was young, based on his brothers’ earlier conversation. He had a friendly smile, and a sort of loose-limbed way of moving that may have been related to his size.

“Winchester,” Luc drawled. “We’re set up in the dining room, you can join us there.”

Luc and the newcomer moved to the dining room. Michael nodded crisply, not bothering to stand up from his seat at the head of the table. “Mr. Winchester. So good of you to join us. Please, have a seat and we can get started. You’ve just met Luc. I’m Michael, this is Gabriel, and Castiel is half hiding. Pay no mind to him, he’s always been odd.”

Mr. Winchester shook Gabriel’s hand and smiled at Castiel, not making a move to try and shake his hand. That was interesting, and refreshing. He hadn’t even made one of those aborted gestures that people made when they started to do something and then changed their mind halfway through the motion. It was just a smooth evaluation and transition into the simple smile.

“It’s a pleasure, gentlemen. As I mentioned, I’ve been Mrs. Albright’s lawyer for a few years now, and she designated me to be the executor of her estate, until it’s been fully distributed to her beneficiaries.” He opened his briefcase and brought out some papers. “It’s been established that the four of you are her sole remaining blood relatives. And your children, of course.” He nodded towards Michael before sitting down across from him. He waited as Luc and Gabriel sat on the other sides of the table, sparing a quick glance to Castiel, who chose to remain on the edge of the room.

After a certain amount of introductory material, the lawyer got to the meat of the terms of Great Aunt Hester’s will.

“I’ll let you read through the details at your leisure, but the gist of it is that Mrs. Albright left various bequests to charities and causes that were important to her, while this property, including the house and its attached land, and her remaining assets are specifically willed to her great nephew Castiel Novak.”

“What?” Michael exclaimed, surprised and furious enough to let some of his emotion show. “That’s not possible. I’m the eldest.” He flipped through the pages of the legal document.

“With all due respect, Mr. Novak, it’s what she desired. You’ll find that her last will and testament is executed properly, and entirely legal.” There was a hard edge to his tone, though it remained coolly professional.

“How much are we talking?” Luc asked, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you. Only Castiel has a right to ask for and receive that information.”

At that, Gabriel snorted a laugh. “She got you in the end, didn’t she? Congratulations, Cassie. You now own a house in Caroline, Kansas.”

“And the remaining assets,” Mr. Winchester added.

Michael directed a piercing look at Castiel. “Request the information, Castiel,” he said. “Ask for the copies of the bank statements and any investment documents that might be relevant.”

Castiel blinked owlishly, his thoughts racing as fast as his heartbeat. This was unexpected. Great Aunt Hester had left her estate to him? Why?

One thing he knew. He had no intention of letting Michael and Luc control this, like they did everything else. He’d had enough of being controlled, of being at the mercy of others’ will. His knees felt weak, and he was grateful for the support of the door frame. He gripped the far side of the door tightly, where they couldn’t see it.

And he shook his head.

“Castiel.”

“No,” he whispered.

“Castiel!”

“No,” he repeated, more firmly, though he thought maybe his voice shook a bit. Rather than stay, he turned and fled to the turret room, closing the door behind himself and sitting down on the floor, barricading the entrance with his body.


	2. Chapter 2

February in Caroline was usually blah. It wasn’t so bad when there was snow on the ground. The snow covered a multitude of sins, making everything look all white and clean and sparkly in the sun. The first couple snowfalls in the season were downright magical, especially when they came in conjunction with the holiday displays along Main Street. The snow reflected the pretty lights and the big red ribbons tied around massive green wreathes. But half the time there wasn’t that much snow left in February, after a couple of mid-winter mini-thaws, like this year. No snow meant everything was just brown and sad and muddy.

Dean Winchester wiped his boots on the mat outside of Sam’s small house before letting himself into the kitchen. “Lucy! I’m home!” he called out.

“We’re in the living room,” Jess called back.

He took his boots off and left them in the tray by the back door before padding sock-footed into the living room, stopping behind Jess and dropping a kiss on Mariel’s soft head, resting on Jess’ shoulder. The baby was four months old now, and prettier every day. Dean wasn’t afraid to admit that he was totally and completely in love.

He squeezed Jess lightly on the other shoulder before coming around to settle on the sofa across from her rocker. “Sam not home yet?”

“Not yet, but he should be soon. He was out at Hester Albright’s place, meeting with her great nephew about the terms of the will.”

“Thought he was doing that yesterday.”

“He did, but it got a little crazy. Apparently the two older nephews weren’t terribly thrilled with everything going to the youngest, and… yeah. They went back to Chicago now, though, so Sam was talking to the other two today.”

“Two oldest… hey, is that who those two dudes in the expensive suits at the diner were yesterday? They looked about as out of place as I’ve ever seen anyone.”

“I don’t know, but probably? I wasn’t out at all yesterday.”

“Yeah, I didn’t actually go in, but I saw them through the front window when I was replacing the glass at the salon.” The Caroline Salon and Barber Shop was right across Main Street from Daisy Diner. He was more of a Roadhouse kind of a guy himself, even ignoring the fact that Ellen owned it, but he’d been to the diner now and then. Sometimes it was just more convenient, and Ellen didn’t serve breakfast. Nor did she sell those amazing cinnamon rolls. There was room for both in Caroline.

“What about them made them look out of place? Just the suits?”

“Nah, that was part of it, but… I dunno. Just the general attitude, you know? The whole ‘I can’t believe I’m sitting in a hick diner and what exactly was that sticky spot I stepped in’ sort of a vibe.”

“Hm. Well, from what Sam said, they’re quite well off. The Novak family is prominent in Chicago. Michael and Luc, the two oldest, are partners in some sort of an investment company, an old one, started by their great-grandfather about a hundred years ago.”

“Why just the two oldest? Why’d the other two get left out of it?”

Jess shrugged. “Don’t know that part. Everything I know we gleaned from public records on the Internet. Sam wanted to do a little research before they got here. Have some idea who he’d be talking to, and how the will was going to go over.” Jessica was an artist, primarily, but she also did some work helping Sam out with his legal office. Otherwise it was just Sam and Linda Tran.

“Sounds like him.” He watched as Mariel shifted, then let out a tremendous burp. He chuckled. “She sure makes a lot of noise for such a little peanut.”

“Tell me about it.” Jess got up, holding the baby carefully as she did so. “Here, take her for a bit. I need to put the laundry in the dryer and check on lunch. She just ate, so she should fall asleep fairly quickly.”

“Looks like she’s most of the way there already.” Dean held out his arms to accept his tiny niece, loving the baby-powder-and-milk scent of her, and the way her sweet warm roundness just settled right against him. She blinked at him twice with her big eyes, and made a little grasping motion with her fingers. He put his pinky into her palm, and grinned when she clutched it tightly. “Yeah, Peanut, I’m right here. Uncle Dean’s got you. Now how about you take a nice little nap so that you’ll be all rested up and noisy when your Daddy gets home?”

She blinked at him, then made the most adorable tiny hiccupy sigh and snuggled into his chest. Damn, but he loved this little girl. He wasn’t even reluctant to admit it, didn’t care what anyone thought. Mariel Rose Winchester was the most remarkable person in the universe, and he was privileged enough to be her uncle.

Yeah, so he was a sap. Sue him.

By the time Sam walked into the house Mariel was sound asleep, but Dean hadn’t moved to put her in her crib. His brother stopped when he saw Dean. “Oh yeah, forgot you were coming for lunch today,” he said, keeping his voice low to not wake the baby.

“Good thing you’ve got Jess around or you’d forget to eat.”

“Ha.” He set his case down under the hall table, then came over to bend down and press a kiss to his daughter’s head. “She been asleep long?”

“Maybe ten minutes.”

“Hey babe,” Jess said, coming in and going up on her toes to press a quick kiss to her husband’s lips. “How’d the meeting go?”

“It was interesting. We got some things squared away. Castiel -- that’s the beneficiary of the estate -- is thinking of staying, not selling.”

“Castee what who?” Dean said. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Castiel,” Sam repeated. “He and Gabriel stayed behind when Michael and Luc returned to Chicago. I get the feeling that the oldest two are used to being in charge and making all the decisions, so they’re not taking this well. But I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, attorney-client privilege. That doesn’t extend to your impressions of people, does it? Just to the things they actually tell you?”

“Mm, but the line can be gray. I trust you, though.”

“Thanks. Anyhow. He’s thinking of staying?” That was interesting. Dean hadn’t really thought Hester’s city-boy family would have any interest in the property. Part of him was disappointed. Not like he’d be able to afford the place himself anyhow, but… if it had come up for sale, he would have at least tried.

“Yeah, he is. And before you say anything, yes, I gave them your name and number. That place definitely needs a lot of work, and Gabriel outright said that neither he nor Castiel are particularly handy.”

“Gabriel is the other brother?” Dean ran his fingers lightly back and forth along Mariel’s spine. She shifted slightly under his touch.

“Yeah, definitely the more outgoing of the two. Castiel, I’m not sure what his story is, but he seems shy to the point of it being a problem. So when they call you, be aware of that. You might need to pull back the charm just a little so you don’t overwhelm the guy.”

“It’s not so easy to pull back the charm when you’re as awesome as I am,” Dean protested, more because it was part of their little shtick than because he particularly meant it.

“Right. Anyhow, I know you’ve been dying to get your hands on the place.”

“It’s a sweet house. She deserves to be treated better. With a little TLC she’ll go back to being the gorgeous lady she was in her heyday.”

“I know, it’s a great place, or at least it could be. Kind of sad to see how shabby it is, but it’s got great potential.”

“Damn straight it does. You really think they’ll call me?”

“Yeah, I do. I got the sense that they’d rather support the local economy, and I know you’ll do a great job. You did a great job here.”

“Aw shucks, Sammy.”

Sam just rolled his eyes, but for all that, Dean knew he was serious. This house was close to Main, just a couple blocks away from Sam’s office in what the locals called the Professional Building, because the old brick structure happened to house not just Sam’s legal office, but an accountant, a dentist, and an insurance agent. The house’s location alone made it attractive to Sam and Jess when they’d moved here from California. The price made it even more so. Sam might be a lawyer with a degree from a prestigious law school, but he was also a young man newly married. He’d stayed in California at first, but he’d been miserable.

After a long, difficult conversation, he and Jess came home to Caroline. Home for Sam, anyhow. Jessica had been born and raised in California, but she’d settled in to life in Caroline with a determination to fit in and enjoy herself.

The little house had needed some serious work. Dean had done the heavy lifting, though Sam and Jess had done a lot, and some of their other friends had helped as well.

“Anyhow, yeah, I’d definitely have time in my calendar to work on that place. So what’s for lunch?” He turned his brightest smile on his sister-in-law. “Hopefully not just rabbit food.”

“Pulled pork to go along with the salad,” Jess informed him. “You know that’s a price you pay to eat here. There are some vegetables and non-protein or carb-based foods being served.”

“You’re trying to kill me. I know it.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Castiel?” The knock on the door was soft. “Cassie? It’s me. Gabriel. They’re gone. Can I come in?”

Castiel blinked once, twice, and shifted. His neck and shoulders were sore, as was his ass. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been sitting here, but it was getting dark out now, and it had still been morning when he’d retreated to the turret room. He scooted forward and reached back to turn the handle, cracking the door open slightly.

Gabriel accepted the invitation and eased inside, sitting down on the floor in front of Castiel. “So. They’re gone. Mikey and Luc. They didn’t want to delay returning to Chicago. I’ll stay here with you while you figure out what’s going on. Okay?” Gabriel was usually loud and obnoxious, but he could also be gentle and soft with Castiel, when he needed it.

Castiel nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was just… Michael was angry, and so was Luc, and the news was unexpected. I reacted poorly.”

“Yeah, you did, but I understand. It’s a lot. Guess I’m not as surprised as you are that Hester would have cut Mikey and Luc out. She really didn’t like them. I’m probably more surprised she didn’t leave the whole thing to her causes, but she must have remembered you fondly from when you were little. You always were a polite little cuss. Weird, too.”

Somehow having Gabriel call him weird didn’t cut the way it did when others used that term. Gabriel didn’t use the term negatively, he supposed. He wore his own weirdness proudly, even if it was an entirely different variety than Castiel’s. Gabriel’s was born of defiance and rebellion, whereas Castiel, when he had been a child, just worked differently. Things that were obvious to others he was entirely oblivious to, and vice versa. He could spend hours watching insects or the way rain fell in patterns on the windows, appreciating the random beauty of the way the paths streamed, parted, rejoined.

“They returned to Chicago?”

“Yeah. You know they hate it out here, and they weren’t going to accomplish anything by staying. I doubt they’ve given up. They’re probably already strategizing about how they’re going to challenge the will.”

“I don’t understand why. This house is nothing they would ever be interested in.”

“You really don’t understand?”

That gave Castiel pause. He considered his brothers, then inclined his head in acknowledgment. “It’s the principle of the matter. Having their expectations foiled. As well as making me continue to pay for my mistakes.”

“Exactly. Plus, there’s the unknown element of not knowing what good old Hessie was worth.”

“I don’t know that either.”

“No, but Sam Winchester does. You’re going to have to talk to him, find out what the situation really is. He seemed like a nice guy. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

Castiel nodded. The simple fact of the matter was that he didn’t trust himself when it came to whether or not others were trustworthy. Not since… well. Not since _then._ He shivered involuntarily.

“Can I stay?” The words spilled out without warning. Even Castiel hadn’t known he was going to say them. Apparently the idea had been tumbling around in the back of his head, until it just had to come out.

Gabriel bumped their knees together and handed him a package of M&Ms. “You could,” he said thoughtfully. “This place is yours now. You work from home anyhow, and you make enough to get by. I’ve been thinking for a while that you should make a fresh start.”

Thinking, and saying a few times, though not to the point of hassling. By that alone, Castiel knew Gabriel was serious.

“I’d need to find out what else is part of the estate. And our brothers are unlikely to leave it alone.”

“Yeah. They are, because they’re dicks that way. I’ll work on them, but I don’t expect it to succeed. They like keeping you under control. They like keeping me under control too, but I’m better at making it more pain than it’s worth. You, you don’t like the conflict. Living here, though, you have a shot at making them forget about you. You okay with talking to Winchester?”

Castiel didn’t like the idea, but he nodded. “Yes. I can do those things. I just prefer not to. You’ll be there too, though, won’t you? I know you need to get back to Chicago as well.”

“I really don’t,” he disagreed. “The shops will run without me for a few weeks. I’ve been thinking about relocating myself.” Left unsaid was that the only reason he hadn’t was to be near enough to support Castiel. He’d only moved back after Castiel’s life had imploded.

“Then if you set something up with the lawyer, I’ll listen and do what needs to be done.”

 * * *

Sam Winchester agreed to come over again the next morning. Castiel was glad, he supposed, that it was morning. That left less time for anxiety to mess with him. This time he eschewed the formal dining room in favor of the small kitchen table. He and Gabriel cleaned beforehand. It wasn’t terrible; there had been some cleaning done before the wake, and there hadn’t been time for it to deteriorate much since then. Castiel trailed his hand over the countertop, thinking _Mine. This is all mine._

That thought brought with it a sense of wonder. He had never really had a place that he could truly consider his before. As a child there had been the home with his family, then the dormitory at university, and from there he’d gone straight to… no. Don’t think of that, don’t think of that. Not right now. He clasped the fingers of his hand tightly around the other wrist, hard enough to hurt, and that grounded him.

He returned to the cleaning, taking a spray cleaner and paper towels to the old kitchen table. It was uneven and like much else, the paint was peeling, but he liked it. He found it charming and comfortable, unpretentious. Real. This table had seen many things. Castiel realized he really didn’t know very much about the life Great Aunt Hester had lived. If he was going to live here, perhaps he would see what he could find out. He was good at that sort of thing, at digging into old records to reconstruct a story. With all the books that were here, surely there were some papers that would reveal something about who she had been.

He was surprised to hear the car driving up into the yard. Was it really time for the meeting already? A jolt of nerves raced down his spine, but it was muted, and manageable. He’d met the lawyer before, after all, and he had kind eyes.

“I’ll get it,” Gabriel said, going to the front door. A minute later he returned to the kitchen, Winchester trailing behind him.

“Hi,” he said with a smile to Castiel. “Good to see you again.”

Castiel nodded and gestured towards the table. “Thank you for agreeing to come,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”

He ignored the slight flicker of surprise in the lawyer’s eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had mistaken his anxiety for a lack of intelligence or an inability to communicate verbally.

“Thanks,” he said, pulling out a chair. It rocked slightly when he sat down. “I always sat in here when I was meeting with Mrs. Albright, too. From what I learned from her you hadn’t spent any time with her recently.”

“No,” Gabriel answered. “She and our parents had a bit of a falling out when we were young. Castiel would have been eight or nine at the time.”

Sam nodded. “That’s what she told me. She still followed your family, as much as she could, being in Kansas while you were in Chicago.” He pulled out an envelope, a beautiful ivory colored paper of obviously high quality, with Castiel’s name written on it in a flowing script. “She wanted me to give this to you. I thought it would be the better part of discretion to not do so last time I was here.”

Castiel took it, feeling the weight and tooth of the paper. Cotton rag, he thought, and a high weight. He didn’t intend to open it quite yet. He would save that for a private time, when he didn’t know what impact it would have on him. “Thank you.”

“So. As I mentioned, aside from some bequests to various charities and causes that she favored, Mrs. Albright left her estate to you, Castiel.”

“What does that mean, her estate?” Gabriel asked. “Not to be blunt, but I’m going to be blunt. Is there enough money to maintain this place?”

“Castiel?” Sam asked. “Do I have your permission to discuss the details with your brother present?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, of course. Though I suppose there is little ‘of course’ about it, after yesterday. To be clear, then. Gabriel has my full trust and confidence.”

Gabriel shot him a quick look at that, flushing faintly. He was perhaps the only person who really understood just how significant that phrasing was, when Castiel no longer trusted even himself.

“Good, good.” Sam nodded and pulled out more papers. “I’ll leave you all of the detailed paperwork to review at your leisure, and you can certainly call me at any time if you have any questions or want to meet again. But this is a summary of the assets in the estate. As the executor I’m going to have to hold back some of the money until all of the final expenses have been settled, but Mrs. Albright had little debt, and she died at home rather than in a care facility, so there were no large final expenses. It shouldn’t take more than a month or two to resolve the remaining issues.”

Castiel took the piece of paper the lawyer handed to him, and quickly reviewed it. There wasn’t the huge fortune that Michael and Luc had perhaps hoped for, which to his mind was a relief. It was still comfortable, and would be enough to provide for him for many years even if he had no other source of income. Perhaps the rest of his life, depending on what it cost to address the myriad issues that even he could see needed to be tended to with the house.

Gabriel leaned over his shoulder to take a look as well. “Nice. Enough to keep you in the lifestyle to which you would like to be accustomed, and not enough that Mikey and Luc would push it unless it’s just to be assholes about it. Which I won’t put past them, Luc especially. He can be a petty dick.”

“Yes, he can be. Even when it makes no sense. If I were to live off of this, I would no longer need to draw down from other familial resources.”

“But you also wouldn’t have to ask nicely every time you needed or wanted something.”

Castiel caught the quick flicker of Sam Winchester’s reaction to that. The man didn’t say anything, to his credit.

“So what do we need to make this happen? Paperwork? Anything to stop Cassie from making this his home right away?”

“Nothing other than signing a few papers.”

“And a hell of a lot of cleaning and repairs,” Gabriel added, looking around the kitchen.

Sam looked up at that. “If you’re going to need help with the repairs, my brother runs a handyman service. He can do just about anything, and has contacts for anything he doesn’t do himself. He’s done everything from hanging pictures to major remodels. Plus he lives right here in Caroline, rather than having to go farther out.”

“Thanks. Leave us the contact info, and we’ll be in touch, I’m sure. Castiel and I are good at various things, but home repairs aren’t exactly one of them.”

“What is it the two of you do?” Sam asked conversationally as he pulled out various papers for Castiel to sign.

“I own a small chain of sweet shops in the greater Chicago area, and I’ve been looking at expanding into other markets. And Castiel writes books.”

“Yeah? What sorts of books?”

Castiel flushed. He was proud of his work, but talking about it was always challenging. He had two completely separate identities as an author. “I have published some works on symbolism in world mythology and ancient literature.” That was the part he was willing to publicly admit. It was respectable, staid, and admittedly more than a little bit boring. It was expected, and safe. No one was terribly interested in it. Sometimes he could see people’s eyes glaze over even before he finished that phrase. He enjoyed the work, enjoyed reading myth and the old stories, and finding the patterns in the symbols used in literature and associated artwork. Those works he published under the name James Novak, using his middle name instead of his unusual first name.

His second identity he kept strictly private. Even Gabriel didn’t know about Steven Emmanuel. The Emmanuel works were imaginative, fantastic, a world he could escape into that was nothing like this world. He’d written them for himself, and after completing the third novel it occurred to him that they might actually be good enough for publication. Now, at book six, they were solidly successful, earning far more than dry, scholarly works ever would.

The only person that knew Steven Emmanuel was actually Castiel Novak was his editor, Hannah.

“Well, a place like this would give you plenty of peace and quiet for working on your books,” Sam observed. “And a few options for where to set up your office, too.”

After Castiel signed some papers, and promised to read through some of the more complicated bits and ask any questions, Sam gathered his things together and excused himself.

“Thanks, Sam,” Gabriel said. “Appreciate your help. We’ll be in touch, and probably call your brother sooner than later, too. Parts of this place are a little past ‘disrepair’ and into the ‘dangerous’ territory.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah. Dean’s been trying to get Mrs. Albright to let him at this place for years, but she never let him do more than the bare minimum, if something actually fell apart enough that she couldn’t do something she wanted to. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He shook both of their hands, and then left.

 * * *

After dinner, Castiel retreated to the room he’d claimed as his own, turned on the bedside lamp, and fluffed up the pillows. They were very new; Gabe had declared he didn’t want to sleep on the flat, worn pillows on the guest bed, so he’d driven out to the nearest bigger town and bought new bedding. Castiel decided he didn’t mind. He piled them up, using them as back support. He took out the heavy envelope Sam Winchester had given him, turning it over to look at the handwriting on the front.

Great Aunt Hester had excellent penmanship. The letters were perfectly formed and beautiful, even if they had a slight wobble and uneven pressure. Castiel, the envelope was labeled. Just his name, the single word.

All right then. Taking a deep breath, he opened the letter and withdrew the sheet of lovely stationery. He wondered idly if there was any more of that paper here in the house. It would be worth finding and using. Quality paper was a delight to use, and this was a beautiful quality. It was almost soft, and the ink flowed smoothly over the surface.

He unfolded the letter and began to read.

 

_Dear Castiel —_

_I imagine receiving this letter is a surprise to you, since we haven’t been in direct contact since you were a child of eight. If I’d had my way that wouldn’t have been the case, but the Novaks have always been nothing if not intransigent. I should know; I have been one my entire life as well._

_I was fortunate to have met and married my beloved Arthur. He passed long before you were even born, but he was a good man. It’s thanks to him that I have this home and this property, which I am bequeathing to you._

_You are probably wondering why. You and your brothers are my only surviving relatives. Charles was the only one of my nephews to have children._

_I love this farm. I believe that of my living family, you are the only one who might treasure it as I have. I entrust it to you in the hopes that you will make it live again._

_Perhaps one day you will raise a family here, the children that Arthur and I were never blessed with. It’s a lovely property for children. I have hopes that you remember it fondly from your own childhood._

_I do not want any piece of this property to pass to your older brothers. Michael and Lucifer — an aptly named child if there ever was one — would see it only as the money it could bring, while Gabriel… he never appreciated it as you did._

_Please take care of my legacy._

_May it bring you joy._

_Yours,_

_Hester Anne Novak Albright_

 

Castiel let the letter fall to his lap, blinking as he considered the kindness of her words, and the gift she had bestowed upon him. He hoped that he would succeed in honoring her wishes.

It was a long time before he turned off his light and settled down into the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

For Castiel, making the decision to stay in Caroline was easy. Moving his life across state lines without returning to Chicago? That was more difficult.

Gabriel stood in the kitchen and looked around. “You do know this place is a disaster.”

Castiel hadn’t yet done a full walk-through of the property, but he didn’t have to. “It needs some work,” he allowed.

“Try a lot of work.”

“But first, we need to clean.” Castiel tossed a bottle of cleanser to his brother.

“If I was smart I wouldn’t have bought all this stuff,” Gabriel complained. Castiel knew he didn’t mean it. He’d driven out to the general store and bought plenty of cleaning supplies — rags, cleansers for different surfaces, detergent, sponges, mops, dusters. Rubber gloves and face masks, just in case. And an extra-large box of heavy-duty trash bags.

Great Aunt Hester had been a neat person, but she’d been elderly, and likely just didn’t have the stamina or the eyesight to clean properly any longer.

“Clean.” Castiel moved one of the chairs over to the cabinets and climbed up onto it, opening the doors and looking inside. The upper shelves held various bits of china, delicate porcelain with pink roses and gold trim. There were also pieces of glass serving ware, and a silver platter. The pieces were not, perhaps, to his taste, but they were quite nice. Some would be worth keeping and using. The idea of sitting in the front room with a cup of tea served in a delicate cup while a fire roared in the fireplace rather appealed to him.

He carefully moved the porcelain out of the cabinet, stacking them on the countertop so that he could clean the shelves.

Gabriel worked the lower cabinets. “You’ll need a car,” he said, making a face at an old cookie sheet that was stained and warped. He set it aside in a ‘toss’ pile. “You’ll need a lot of things, but a car will be a pretty high priority so that you can get the other things you’ll need.”

Castiel nodded. “I would like one of my own.” He’d used one of the family cars back in Chicago, when he needed to drive. It would be nice to have one that was just his. “Have you looked in the garage at all? Perhaps there is already a vehicle there.”

“I looked, yeah, while you were upstairs the other day. There’s an old wreck that’s missing two wheels and is half rusted out. Even if you could get it running I wouldn’t trust it. You need something reliable.” Then he grinned. “Reliable, but stylish. Maybe something red with some zip to it. Low-slung and sexy.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Acquiring a car can wait a little while. I have you for now, and I believe I will be able to get purchases delivered.” He didn’t like the idea of strangers coming up to his door, but it was preferable to going out and shopping himself. This was a small town. Everything he’d ever read or heard indicated that people in small towns were much more nosy and curious about new neighbors than those in the large city he was accustomed to. He’d still be the object of curiosity and gossip if he stayed here, but at least he wouldn’t have to hear any of it, nor would he have to constantly decide whether or not the people he talked to were trustworthy. Theoretically they should be, but how could he be sure? It’s not like the untrustworthy people wore signs indicating their morals and motivations.

Writing was so much easier. Even when his characters acted badly, he knew what they were going to do, when, and why. Besides, they were fictional. If they did something awful to someone else, no one _really_ suffered.

“When do you want to do the grand tour thing? You need to get familiar with the town, at least. It’ll make it easier when I leave again.”

“I know.” He didn’t have to like it, but he knew Gabriel wouldn’t stay here forever. A month at the most, probably less.

Castiel didn’t really have a problem with going out to the stores and buying the things he needed in Chicago. The stores were all large, and it was easy to be just another face in the crowd. “Or once I have a car, I could drive to… whichever is the nearest bigger city. Topeka? Wichita? I’ll have to check on the map.”

“Or you could eventually get comfortable enough to shop local.”

Castiel swallowed. “Eventually. Perhaps.”

Gabriel made a face as he pulled out some old cans from the back of the cupboard. “This looks like it’s about twenty years old. Maybe thirty.” He shuddered dramatically.

“Great Aunt Hester probably couldn’t get down there very easily any more. She was in her nineties, after all. A very long life.”

“Yeah, she did last a long time. Impressive.” He tossed the can on top of the cookie sheet. Castiel winced at the loud banging sound it made.

“More immediate, though… what are you going to do about getting your stuff out here?”

Castiel stilled, his pulse spiking and a chill running down his spine. He looked down at his brother. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“I know, dude, but you want your stuff, don’t you?”

“I don’t actually have that much. But yes. Some of what I do have is important to me.”

Gabriel sighed. “I’ll do it. I can run back up there in a couple days, get your stuff packed up and shipped down here. I have to take care of some business anyhow.”

“I would greatly appreciate that.”

“Yeah, I know. Anything there that I can use to embarrass the hell out of you?”

“Even if I don’t believe there is, I’m sure you’ll find some way to do so.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was right about getting a call. Gabriel Novak contacted Dean later that afternoon, and made arrangements for him to come out and take a look around the house the very next day. Dean set it up for first thing in the morning. He didn’t have a whole lot of prior appointments, just jobs he fit in around other things. The handyman gig was most of his time, but not all. He did some carpentry projects on the side, sometimes made-to-order and sometimes just because he wanted to and might sell them later. Once in a while he helped Bobby out at the garage, keeping his hand in on his amateur mechanic skills. Sometimes he helped Ellen out at the Roadhouse, too, when she was short-staffed. He liked the variety, and having a few other part-time things helped when his main business was slow.

Thursday morning found him heading up the gravel drive to the Albright place. He supposed he’d have to learn to start calling it the Novak place, though people changed slowly in Caroline. It wouldn’t surprise him if people still called it the Albright place twenty years from now.

He’d last been here, what, last fall? Had it really been that long? Mrs. Albright had a leaking sink, bad enough that there was water all over her kitchen floor. She couldn’t close her eyes and pretend that wasn’t a problem, so she’d called him over. After he’d replaced the elbow joint and checked the other pipes she’d given him a cup of strong black coffee and a couple chocolate chip cookies, store-bought now instead of the homemade ones he remembered from before she’d stopped baking, but it was still the hospitable thing to do, and he’d spent a good extra twenty minutes chatting her up and giving her the best of the Dean Winchester charm.

Sad that she was gone, now. He’d wanted to go to the wake, but just as he’d left the service he’d gotten a panicked call from a client with a broken pipe, and that was the sort of thing that needed to be handled immediately.

He parked the truck over by the sagging garage and hopped out, scanning the exterior of the house with a professional eye. He wanted to get up on the roof and check its condition, and inspect the electrical and plumbing. If any of those had been looked at in the last dozen years it hadn’t been him doing the looking. He wanted to look over the foundation and the siding as well. Even from here he could see that the paint was peeling. That could just be cosmetic, or it could be symptomatic of a deeper issue. The supports on the porch were suspicious, too.

Well. Time to look at that after he’d said his hellos to the new owner.

Dean took the three steps up to the porch in a single stride, and rapped sharply on the door. He knew for a fact the doorbell was iffy at best.

After a moment the door opened. “Dean Winchester? Hi, I’m Gabe Novak. Glad you could make it so quickly.” His handshake was firm and brief, his hand small but strong. The guy was on the short side of medium height, with whisky-colored eyes and thinning hair worn a little too long. Beyond that, though, he was anything but average. Weren’t Zubaz about twenty years out of fashion, if not more? These were a purple and brown zebra stripe, with a loud Hawaiian print shirt in green and red. A Snickers bar poked out of the shirt pocket, unopened. Definitely a far cry from what the guy had been wearing at the funeral, when all four of the Novak brothers were properly dressed in respectable suits. Not that Dean had really paid much attention, but he was certain he would have noticed a Hawaiian shirt.

“Hey. Nice to meet you, Gabe. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the wake, but I was at the service. Sorry for your loss. Mrs. Albright was an institution in Caroline. The town is the worse for her absence.”

“Kind of you to say. I hadn’t really seen her in over twenty years, so I’m thinking you likely knew her much better than I did. Still, appreciate the sentiment. Come on in, meet Cas-tiel.” Dean had the distinct impression he was going to say something else entirely. “He’s usually a bit on the quiet side, so don’t take it personally if he doesn’t say too much.”

“Sam mentioned something along those lines,” Dean admitted. Not in those words.

“Come on. We were just finishing up in the kitchen after breakfast.”

Dean followed Gabe through the front room to the kitchen at the rear of the house, taking in the general condition. Not much had changed from six months ago, though it looked cleaner. Someone had taken a broom and mop to the floor, and applied some elbow grease to most of the flat surfaces. He could smell a faint aroma of lemon-fresh cleanser.

Empty casserole dishes were stacked neatly on the kitchen counter. Dean recognized a couple of the more unique ones from various community potlucks. Mildred’s bright yellow daisy casserole dish was hard to miss, as was the Fitzgeralds’ red plastic bowl held together with duct tape.

The kitchen itself still made him cringe, just like it had last year when he’d fixed the sink. The lighting was horrible, and while it had a couple windows, they were small and cracked and fogged over so badly that the best that could be said for them was that they let in some light. Some.

“You’ve been here before?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah, I’ve done some work here and there. Would have liked to have done more, but what can you do?” He shrugged.

He’d barely looked around when the back door opened and another man – had to be Castiel – walked in. Dean couldn’t quite hold back the half smile of appreciation. Dude was hot. Dark hair that it looked like he’d tried to tame, but still stuck up here and there. Tall, fit. He and Gabe had very little in common as far as looks. And then the guy looked up and met his gaze, and holy hell, his eyes were _blue_.

Dean licked his suddenly dry lips. Okay, just because the guy was one of the most attractive people he’d seen in Caroline in years didn’t mean he had to be obvious about it. Not unless he got some indications that he’d be open to it. Small town Kansas wasn’t the best place in the world to be an equal opportunity kind of a guy. It paid to be careful. Besides, Sam had warned him that the guy was, what was the word he’d used, skittish? Uncomfortable around strangers, and given this was the first time they’d met, he qualified.

“Hey,” he said, smiling warmly, but keeping his voice quiet. He raised his hand in a friendly half wave rather than extending it to shake, guessing that physical contact would also make him less comfortable. “I’m Dean, and you must be Castiel.” He pronounced the name carefully, hoping like hell he’d gotten it right.

“Hello, Dean.”

His voice was deeper than Dean had expected, rough around the edges, rusty from disuse. It sounded like he’d just gotten out of bed and hadn’t had his morning coffee yet.

Okay, so the guy was sex on a stick, and clearly had no idea. Either that or he directed it only towards the ladies. This was a look but don’t touch situation. Always was, honestly, in a professional situation. He was here as a potential contractor. Didn’t mean he couldn’t be himself, and being himself included being charming, pushing up against that line between friendly and flirtatious.

He cleared his throat. “So… first up, let me say I’m sorry for your loss. Mrs. Albright was a wonderful lady. We’ll miss her in Caroline.”

“Thank you.” Castiel’s fingers flexed around the edge of the countertop, and he shifted from one foot to the other. His shoulders were tense, and every bit of his body language screamed that he’d rather be almost anywhere else, and yet he took a half step forward instead of back. He peeled his fingers off of the counter and shifted his hands to the back of one of the kitchen chairs, holding onto that instead.

Dean wondered what had happened to the guy to make him so terrified of someone new. Because this was more than just being uncomfortable around strangers, he realized. Castiel was breathing too shallowly, and there was the slightest tremor in his hands.

Maybe he’d find out someday, maybe he wouldn’t. In the meantime, he needed to do what he could to help the guy through it.

He turned towards Gabriel and smiled at him. He knew the house was now in Castiel’s name, but clearly he’d be more comfortable if Dean directed most of his conversational efforts towards the older brother. Cas would hear everything, and could jump in if he had anything he wanted to say, even if Dean avoided pressing him for anything. Hopefully that would help him to relax a bit more.

“Last time I was here I fixed the sink,” he said, moving over and running his hands over the old faucet. “Replaced some of the old pipes underneath, snaked it out, and did a little work on the faucets, too.” He turned them on and off, happy that the washer he’d replaced seemed to still be holding up. “Sammy said you’re considering staying on in Caroline.”

Gabe nodded. “Castiel has a fairly small apartment back in Chicago, right in the middle of the city. Place like this suits him better. It seems at least habitable, from what I can tell, though it clearly needs a lot of work. I’m not a contractor, though. I own candy stores.”

“Yeah? Awesome. More of a pie guy myself, but I’ve got nothing against chocolate.”

“I’ll send you a box once I’m back, or have one sent out. Not sure I trust the equipment here, or I’d make some.” He sent a disdainful look towards the old stove. “So. Can you take a look around, give us some idea of what sorts of things need to be done?”

“Absolutely. Give me an hour or two to look around, and I’ll give you a preliminary report. I’m not a licensed electrician or plumber, but I know enough to be able to give you an idea about where the trouble spots are. I’ll tell you what really needs to be addressed sooner rather than later, and what you can hold off on for a while because it’s either just cosmetic or it’ll hold up for another year or two. I don’t know how extensive the work you’ll want to do here is.”

Gabe looked at Cas, who shrugged slightly.

“Yeah, we haven’t had enough time yet to really absorb that this place belongs to Castiel now, so he doesn’t know, either. I’m guessing the kitchen’s going to be pretty high on the list. He likes to cook. Good at it, too.” He smiled fondly at the younger man.

Castiel flushed lightly, a shade of pink flushing upwards along his neck to the tips of his ears. He didn’t say anything, but he nodded.

“Awesome. I’ll make sure to do an extra careful inspection in here, then.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, his voice softer than before.

“We haven’t figured out all the details on the estate yet, so don’t have a clear idea of how much the budget’s going to be,” Gabe volunteered.

“You’ll find my rates are reasonable. And if you’re from Chicago, hopefully you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the differences in costs between the big city and small town Kansas. My overhead isn’t anywhere near what the guys out there have to cover.”

“What sorts of services do you offer? Sam just said you did general handyman work, and sort of a jack of all trades.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, I like working with my hands, and I like variety. I can do basic plumbing and electrical, things like fixing light fixtures and repairing leaks. More substantial work in those areas I have guys I know that are licensed. I’m fairly sure that there’s going to need to be at least some rewiring in this lovely lady. She’s gorgeous, but she’s showing her age. My specialty is carpentry, both the construction type and custom furniture. I can do just about anything you’d need around here. That said, it’s usually just me, though I have a couple guys I call on when I need another set of hands to do things. So I can’t always get things done as fast as some of the bigger contractors out of the city could. I like to think my work’s at least equal in quality, if not better. And if you actually want the speed and are willing to pay for it, I can hire on temporary help.”

He looked around. “So. Shall I get started?”

“Yeah, go for it.” Gabe waved vaguely towards the door.

“Aye aye, sir.” He whipped out a casual little salute along with a grin, and headed back out to get the tools he’d need, humming tunelessly to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel felt hot, which was ridiculous given that it was late February and the heat in the house wasn’t really keeping up with the cold outdoor temperatures. Likely the insulation was one of the things that would need work.

Dean Winchester was not what he had expected. He supposed he should have anticipated that the man would be attractive. After all, his brother Sam was quite good looking, and good genes tended to run in families, by definition. Still, Sam had been professional, friendly, but maintaining a certain decorum and distance. Dean, though, Dean had a presence about him that was impossible to ignore. He also hadn’t been at all pushy. He’d been respectful of Castiel’s distance, not even forcing a handshake.

Castiel heard a thump against the side of the house. He looked out the window, saw a ladder and Dean climbing it. From this angle he could see that the man’s legs were slightly bowed. His jeans fit him quite well.

Gabriel poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned back against the kitchen cabinets, crossing his feet at the ankles. “So what do you think?”

Castiel was glad it was Gabriel drinking the coffee. Gulping too much hot coffee wasn’t a good idea. He couldn’t be asking what he was literally thinking, could he? He couldn’t want to know about the fit of worn denim. “About what?” he asked, with just the right amount of curiosity. He hoped.

“Winchester. Talks like he knows what he’s doing, and he’s local. Plus he worked for dear Great Aunt Hester.”

Ah. What he thought about hiring him. That was a safer topic. “Unfortunately we can’t ask her whether she was satisfied with the quality of his work or not.”

“Can check references. I can.” Gabriel knew that the idea of cold calling people was enough to give Castiel hives, while Gabriel had no problem at all with it. When they were children he’d pranked people on the phone so often that his phone had been confiscated. Not that he’d allowed that to stop him. He’d simply gotten more creative.

“That would be prudent.” Castiel wasn’t certain it was necessary, but yes. It would be prudent.

“More important, though, you think you could be comfortable with him hanging around a lot? This place needs a shit ton of work, even I can tell that, just to bring it up to a moderately good state of repair. That’s not even counting any remodeling you’d want to do. Or landscaping.”

“I wouldn’t do formal landscaping. Perhaps some gardens.”

“Even gardens need work to get them started.”

“I am perfectly capable of creating flower beds and a vegetable garden without professional assistance.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Cassie, I’m just saying that you’d get more done faster if you had someone use power tools to get started.”

“Perhaps so, but that is something I believe I wish to do myself. Even if it takes longer than it otherwise might.” The thought that he might have his own gardens caused a warm feeling behind his breastbone. He would research what types of flowers were particularly beneficial for bees, and perhaps he would eventually acquire a beehive of his own, even harvest his own honey. He’d admired bees for a long time; the idea that he might be able to do his own small bit to help support them gave him a sort of delicate bubble of pleasure. He could do something just because he wanted to, for no one’s benefit but his own, and there was no one to belittle his choices or roll their eyes at his ‘silly ideas’.

He could plant vegetables, too, and use them in his cooking, when he had a kitchen conducive to producing food. Oh, and herbs! Basil, of course. Rosemary, thyme, cilantro. Tarragon. Various types of mint. Oregano, sage.

He wondered how long he would have to wait until it would be warm enough to start working on those projects. There was undoubtedly something he could begin immediately, clearing away some of the brush, deciding where he wanted to plant things, reviewing articles and gardening catalogs.

“From what we saw of the bank account balances, Hester left you enough to get this place totally fixed up, even without touching any of the family funds.”

Castiel flushed. The ‘family funds’ under his control were strictly limited and monitored, still, even though it had been years since the incident. He tried to avoid touching them for more than basic living expenses, more successfully now that he had an independent source of income.

He’d briefly considered not using that account at all, but realized that would make them wonder how he was paying his expenses, which might in turn lead them to Steven Emmanuel, and that? That he wanted very much to avoid.

“Yes. I am grateful for that.”

“Any ideas what order you want to tackle things in? Beyond the safety issues?” Gabe picked at a piece of flaking paint, peeling it off.

Castiel smiled slightly. “I have been considering that. It would make sense to equip a workspace first, at least to minimum specifications so that I might carry on my writing. Beyond that, the kitchen, though I understand kitchen remodels can be quite time consuming and quite expensive. This space is quite small and awkwardly laid out. I imagine it was fine for the time it was built, but kitchen appliances have changed drastically over the last century.”

“If you’re going to stay here, you should have something that’s going to meet your needs. More than that — you should have something that you love. Do it right the first time, as long as you can afford it.”

“I agree. Hopefully Mr. Winchester is not exaggerating his ability to do that sort of work.”

“I’ll ask if I can see some of his work. You should come too, if you can manage it. I can do all the talking. You can just look and listen.”

“Mm. Perhaps.” The idea of going to see some of Dean Winchester’s work in person was appealing. It would give him some idea of the man’s skill set, more so than just by listening to how he represented himself or viewing photographs. Castiel knew better than most that what a person said about themselves wasn’t always anything close to who or what they truly were. But would he have to mingle with people in order to do so? Sometimes large crowds were easier than smaller groups. After all, if there were dozens or even hundreds of people in an area, it was much easier to blend in and not call attention to himself. If it was only him, and everyone else knew each other, he attracted attention simply by being someone new and unknown.

“I was thinking we should take a drive uptown this afternoon,” Gabriel continued, as though the topic weren’t something entirely different. “Start getting a feel for the lay of the land, what businesses are around, where to get groceries and gas and the other basics. I think I spotted a library.”

“You’ve already done that.”

“You haven’t. Library, Cas.”

Castiel groaned. Libraries were his weak spot, and well Gabriel knew it. A small community like this was unlikely to have a large collection, but even small libraries usually had connections to larger regional services, and could request books they didn’t hold themselves. Many sources could be found online these days, or easily ordered through an online retail service, but there was still a pleasure in wandering through the shelves of a library without a particular objective, just scanning the titles available and pulling anything that sounded interesting, then spending hours with those new friends, seeing what they had to teach.

He’d learned many things that way, developed some interests he might otherwise never had encountered.

Gabriel grinned, knowing he’d scored. “If you’re a good boy I’ll buy you an ice cream at the diner.”

“Fuck off, Gabriel.”

* * * 

By the time Dean rejoined them in the kitchen a couple hours later, Castiel had gained a better understanding of the investments Great Aunt Hester had left behind, and drawn up a rough budget. He’d done a little research on typical costs for extensive renovations, so that he would have some idea of the reasonability of whatever quotes Dean came up with.

Castiel was as good with numbers as he was with words. It was people that he didn’t understand, people who were able to take advantage of his nature. People who were able to inflict the kind of damage he was having problems recovering from.

Castiel watched Dean spread out a notebook on the table, reviewing his notes with his pen stuck between his teeth. He’d gotten into some dirty places; cobwebs adorned his short hair, and the shoulders of his burgundy flannel shirt were covered in a fine layer of dust and other detritus. He’d stopped to wash his hands, so they at least were clean.

“So. There are some areas I’d recommend a more thorough inspection by a specialist, mostly the electric and plumbing I mentioned earlier. The electric is inadequate for a house this size, especially if you want to be running any modern appliances. Most of the outlets aren’t grounded, and the bathrooms don’t have the proper GFCI. Good news is that the structure is solid and sound. You don’t need to do any large scale overhauls on the foundation -- which is good, because that gets very expensive very fast.”

He went on to list off a number of other items, including his evaluation of how serious the needed repairs were, what could be put off indefinitely, and what could be shored up temporarily but should really be looked at somewhere down the road. Safety first. Electrical because it could cause a fire, updates to the furnace because it was old and inefficient even though it was still functional.

Castiel listened carefully, taking notes and asking the occasional question. Dean answered them all patiently and to the best of his ability, never making it feel as though he were stupid. Ignorant and uneducated about the topic at hand, perhaps, but never stupid. It was a pleasure listening to him talk. He had a deep, rich voice. Castiel wondered what his singing voice would be like. Could he carry a tune?

He didn’t know too many people who sang. Music wasn’t a priority in the Novak household, which Castiel had always regretted.

Gabriel asked a few questions as well, and then all too soon Dean was packing up to go. “So if you agree, I can have my buddy Benny swing by tomorrow for a more thorough evaluation of the electrical systems. He’s an electrician, a good one. He’ll treat you fair and do a great job for you.”

“That sounds good,” Gabriel agreed. “Give me a call and let me know what time. We don’t have any solid appointments at this point. Mostly just working on cleaning up and starting to go through Aunt Hester’s things. We’ll have to decide what to do with everything.”

“Don’t envy you that. It’s a challenge at the best of times. You decide you want to hire someone to help with the cleaning let me know. I’ve got a few contacts, everything from a professional service to some local people who’d be willing to pick up some odd jobs for a bit of extra cash.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel smiled and shook Dean’s hand. “Appreciate it. We’ll be in touch.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned, gave Castiel a little salute, then gathered his things and left.

Gabriel arched a brow at Castiel after the rumble of the pick-up truck’s engine faded in the distance. “So? You think you’ll be okay with him being around? Haven’t seen you engage that much with someone you’d just met in a long time.”

Castiel considered for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps it helped that it was a very specific topic. If you think he’s trustworthy, then yes. He seemed to know what he’s doing, and I would rather not have to meet with other people simply for the sake of getting additional bids.”

“I asked around a bit, didn’t find anything alarming. I’m okay with it.” He smiled then. “Congratulations, Cassie. You’re about to turn this place into somewhere actually habitable.”

 * * *

Gabriel prodded and poked at Castiel until he agreed to go to the town’s central business district with him. Castiel didn’t promise to get out of the car at all, but he could at least take a visual survey of Caroline and start to familiarize himself with the local economy.

The idea that he was going to make a home here was both exhilarating and terrifying. He was nearly breathless with the idea of creating his own sanctuary far from Chicago, far from Michael and Luc, far from the memories that sometimes suffocated him. Maybe he’d actually be able to make friends here, true friends.

Ha. First he would have to learn how to talk to people, and while true friends would be wonderful, what basis did he have to believe he’d be able to succeed at that sort of an endeavor? A sour feeling of hopelessness sank into his bones.

He sank a little lower into the passenger seat of the car as Gabriel turned onto Main Street, but positioned himself so that he could still see.

When they’d arrived for Great Aunt Hester’s funeral, they hadn’t come directly to Caroline. There was apparently a motel or two in the town, but the quality didn’t meet Michael’s standards, and so they had booked rooms in Topeka, nearly an hour away. Then, on the day of the funeral, they'd bypassed Main in favor of going directly to the church. All of which meant that Castiel hadn’t really seen much of the town itself until now.

It wasn’t large. All of Main Street stretched perhaps four blocks, with a few businesses arrowing off on the cross streets. The architecture was typical small town America, a mix of brick and concrete and clapboard siding, with evergreen swags still tied to the street lamps along with red plastic bows, though Christmas was more than two months past. The day was warm and sunny, one of those days that edged more towards Spring than Winter. An older church stood on the edge of the downtown area, its steeple the greatest height in town.

Castiel observed a variety of businesses. There was a diner, likely the one Michael and Luc had scoffed about, and three bars. He’d observed before, if only anecdotally, that small towns tended to have more bars than churches. Caroline, it seemed, fit that template, with two churches and three bars. The grocer was next to the hardware store, and across from a shop that appeared to sell agricultural supplies. There was a grain elevator beside the railroad tracks outside of town, and the school stood on another end of town. The professional services building had a sign that included Samuel Winchester, Attorney on its facade, prompting a thrill of recognition. He didn’t see the library, but maybe that was closer to the school.

Did Dean maintain a storefront as well? Or did he work out of his home? Castiel didn’t see anything immediately, but that didn’t mean anything. A business where he went to his clients rather than needing them to come to him wasn’t going to need to be centrally located. He wasn’t sure how much work he did away from client sites, anyhow, though surely he at least needed space to store his equipment. He’d mentioned something about woodwork as well, hadn’t he? So wouldn’t he need a workshop?

“Groceries should be the last stop, since we’ll probably end up getting some stuff that needs to be kept frozen or refrigerated,” Gabriel mused aloud, yanking Castiel’s attention back to the here and now. “Anything you’re particularly interested in, Cassie?”

“Not anything particularly, no. Not above everything else. This is rather the quintessential American small town atmosphere, isn’t it.”

“Looks like that. Wonder if the church ladies have quilting bees and monthly potlucks. And look, my boy -- that Daisy Diner place has a bakery case I can see from here! Small town bakeries are inevitably better than their big city counterparts, because they make smaller batches.” He rubbed his hands together in glee, licking his lips in anticipation.

“What about the smaller specialty bakeries?”

“Don’t pull out your logic hat, bro. I’m sticking to my guns on this one. I’ll grab something for you, too.”

“Very well.” No sense protesting that he didn’t need anything. Besides, he was rather fond of the occasional baked goods. Cookies, cakes, pies, bars, donuts, it was all good, so long as the quantities remained limited. Honestly, he didn’t understand how Gabriel was in such relatively good health, except that he was always so hopped up on sugar that he didn’t sit still. Maybe he secretly ate broccoli and carrots when no one was looking.

Gabriel parked the rental car in an open spot on Main Street, and Castiel pulled out a book from the inner pocket of his tan trench coat. He might watch the people, but having a book for a cover meant he could quickly glance down again, and people were more likely to leave him alone if it appeared that he was buried in a book.

The middle of a weekday in February was apparently not the busiest time for downtown Caroline, but even so there were people out and about, stopping at the post office and carrying on their business. Gabriel disappeared inside the diner -- and what kind of a name was Daisy Diner anyhow? Just an excuse to use large images of cheerful white and yellow daisies painted on the awning, the glass, and likely all over the interior as well? He wondered if the planters on the sidewalk would be filled with daisies during the warm weather months, and startled himself to realize that he would likely be here to see for himself.

A couple pushing a baby stroller turned a corner and started heading towards the car. _Dean_ , Castiel recognized the man. Today he was wearing a brown and green plaid flannel shirt, without a jacket. A strange twisting sensation moved in his gut as he watched Dean bend down over the stroller and lift out a small child. He turned towards his companion, a lovely tall blond woman, and both of them laughed. Such an idyllic, perfect scenario. Handsome man, gorgeous woman, beautiful baby.

Castiel’s mouth twisted as they turned towards the professional building, not understanding why he was suddenly feeling … disappointment? Regret? What did he have to be disappointed or regretful over? Nothing. Nothing at all.

The car door opened, and Gabriel dropped a white waxed bag onto his lap -- an overly stuffed bag. “I thought you were just getting us one thing apiece.”

“Never said that, I would never have said that. You know me better than that. Besides, donuts are half off after noon!”

Castiel unrolled the top to look inside at the assortment. “So you needed to buy six times as many? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Just so you know. I didn’t buy six times as many. I would have bought this many in any event. How can a man properly choose between raspberry and lemon filled bismarcks? And between a chocolate cake donut with sprinkles, or an apple cinnamon fritter? He can’t, I tell you. It’s just not possible.”

“People do it all the time, Gabriel.”

“They’re not really people. They’re aliens disguised as people who are vulnerable to sugar. It’s how you can identify them.”

Castiel snorted. “Make sure you pick up a good assortment of produce in the grocery store. Whatever looks good.”

“You’re changing the topic. I’m wounded.”

Castiel snorted again.

Gabriel shifted the car into gear, looking around. “Hey. Is that Dean Winchester?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t know he was married. How about that.”

“We’ve not exactly exchanged life stories,” Cas pointed out, hoping his bad mood wasn’t obvious.

“Well, that’s true. Cute kid, anyhow. So. Grocery store next?”

“Yes.”


	7. Chapter 7

Ellen set a bottle of beer in front of Dean, popping the cap off and tossing it into the bucket behind the bar. “Rumor has it you’ve been working up at the Albright place. That why you haven’t been around much lately?”

“That’s part of it. Working there during the day, then trying to make a little progress on the commissions when I get home. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for going out for a drink.”

“Well, you know coming here doesn’t count as ‘going out for a drink’. It counts as checking in with the people who care about you.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She flicked her towel at him. “Smart ass.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She scowled at him, but he could see the amusement in her eyes. She leaned forward on the bar. “So you making progress there? What’s the new guy like?”

“Honestly I haven’t dealt with him, other than that first day. The electrical is the most important thing to get fixed, so I’ve had Benny over working on it, with me helping. We pulled the whole panel and are doing some major rewiring. Cas has mostly been either out or shut up in the turret room. Apparently he works from home. I deal with his brother.”

Dean knew that Cas was uncomfortable around strangers, and that was probably more the reason than that he was working, but he couldn’t say that even to Ellen. He wasn’t about to gossip about someone like that. He loved the small town life, but it came with its drawbacks. One of those was the rumor mill. He trusted Ellen with his life; she was like a mom to him. But the fact remained that he was sitting in a bar, and some of the people around him spread gossip like dandelion seeds.

“Mm,” she hummed. “Well. You invite him over here, him and that brother of his. First round will be on the house. Welcome him to town.”

“I’ll pass it along, but don’t expect him to jump all over it.”

 * * *

The electrical work wasn’t quite done, but Benny had another commitment the next day, so Dean pulled up to the Albright — scratch that, the _Novak_ place — alone the next morning in his beat-up pickup truck. The truck had seen a lot of miles and a lot of wear and tear. He’d rather be driving Baby, but as much as he loved her, he wasn’t about to subject her to the abuses of construction equipment. She just wasn’t built for carrying lumber and tools.

He went around to the back door and knocked briskly. A moment later he heard the snick of the lock being turned, and then the door opened.

Dean’s smile grew. “Hey, Cas,” he said with genuine pleasure. “How’s the work going? Been keeping you really busy, huh?”

Damn, but he looked good. He must have only dragged himself out of bed a short time ago, because his hair was more mussed than usual and there were pillow creases pressed into his cheek. Stubble darkened his chin and jaw, and that made Dean want to reach out and feel if it was soft or prickly. He was wearing a pair of loose cotton drawstring sleep pants, and a worn heather blue tee over them. No sign of Gabriel, but that wasn’t necessarily a surprise. Gabe was an enigma.

Cas blinked once, twice, then reached up to rub his face. “Excuse me, did you call me Cas?”

Fuck. Was that not okay? “Uh, yeah, sorry. Guess I’ve been shortening it in my head. I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”

He blinked again, tipped his head to one side and regarded Dean with an intensity that reminded him of grade school teachers trying to decide if he was really guilty despite his protestations of innocence. Mr. Conyers had been particularly adept at it. All Cas needed was a pair of glasses sliding down his nose. And okay, maybe a sweater vest and brown tweed trousers. Mr. Conyers hadn’t exactly been with the times.

“No one has called me that before.” He caught his pink lower lip between his teeth, worrying it. Then he released it and gave Dean a slight smile. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Dean smiled back. That smile… there wasn’t much there, barely a tilt of one corner of his mouth, but Dean knew it was rare, and therefore valuable. He determined then and there that he would make it his mission to coax that little smile out of hiding more often, tempt it to come out to play, maybe make a regular appearance. Cas was already handsome. With that smile he was amazing.

He cleared his throat. “Okay then. Cas it is.”

“I see that you are here alone today, Dean.” Cas moved towards the kitchen counter where the coffeemaker was plugged into a newly replaced outlet, one that should be able to handle the load without sparking. It was making a burbling noise, promising hot coffee in the near future.

“Yeah. Benny had a prior commitment. We’re wrapping up on his part for now, anyhow. Another day or two should do it, until and unless you decide to do some bigger remodels. If it’s okay we’ll need to get into the turret room, upgrade the outlets there.”

Cas’ shoulders tensed, but then he forcibly relaxed them. “Yes, I suppose that is necessary. I am using that room as my study, so having electric up to code that isn’t going to risk damaging my electronic equipment is, I suppose, an important factor. Does Benny have to do it?”

“Nah, man, I should be able to do it. I can run the wires down to him from inside the walls, and he can stay downstairs. I can do the parts that are in there. The county inspector will need to check the final work, though.”

“That makes sense.”

Dean glanced around, noticing that some of the piles of _stuff_ were smaller. Gabriel and Cas were taking things out of cupboards and closets during the evening hours. “Looks like you’ve been making some progress getting the place cleaned out.”

“Yes. Great Aunt Hester has a great deal of items to sort through. It will be a lengthy task to tackle it all. But this house is larger than I need for one person, so I am starting with the few rooms I actually need.”

“It’s got, what, three bedrooms? Depending on how you classify some of the rooms?”

“Yes. Gabriel and I are using the guest rooms for the time being.”

“Makes sense. Is he around?”

“Not right now. He went to Topeka to get some more new linens, and I believe he mentioned something about a vacuum cleaner made in this century.”

“So he’ll be back later tonight.”

“Yes. But we were talking last night, and he will soon be returning to Chicago to help pack my belongings and have them shipped out here. I don’t actually have that many possessions that I want to keep. Mostly personal items. My apartment came with the furniture, so that doesn’t belong to me.”

“So this is quite an upgrade for you.”

Cas looked around. “Yes, I suppose it is.” His eyes were starting to look a bit more alert, though it was obvious he needed the coffee. As soon as it stopped dripping into the carafe he poured a mug. He hesitated, turned back towards Dean. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Love some, thanks!” He had a cup from the diner back in the truck, but hell if he was about to refuse this offer of hospitality, and really one of the first tentative attempts at reaching out that Cas made. He barely knew the guy, barely saw him around the property, but he still wanted to get to know him better. Part of it was the mystery, sure, interest in unraveling that story. But it wasn’t just that. There hadn’t been anyone new in Caroline for a very long time. People tended to move away, not in. There weren’t that many job opportunities for younger people, not the sorts of jobs that attracted people who hadn’t grown up in the area.

Cas pulled another mug down from the cupboard, checked it quickly to make sure it was clean, then poured. “Cream or sugar?”

“Nope. I take it black.” Most of the time. Once in a while, if no one was looking, he might add a splash of one of those fancy flavorings Sam and Jess kept. He was particular to the amaretto, of all things, though he’d never admit it. Hazelnut wasn’t bad, either, but that amaretto shit was amazing. That pumpkin spice crap was pretty awesome, too, no matter how much he mocked his brother about it.

Cas handed him the mug. Dean’s fingers tingled where they brushed. He took a sip of the coffee. “That’ll wake you up. Just the way I like it.”

“Mm,” Cas grunted, and sipped at his own mug. He leaned back against the cabinet, more relaxed than Dean had seen him yet. It gave him a particular pleasure, because he didn’t think that happened very often. So maybe Cas did actually like him? Might be open to friendship, at least? That was certainly worth pursuing. Dean had friends in Caroline, of course, but most of the people his age were settling down, starting families. It cut into their availability to just hang out with friends. He was always welcome, he knew that, but… yeah. Sometimes he felt a little lonely.

Dean leaned against the door, propping his shoulder against the worn wood. “Think you’re going to just fix up the worst of it in here?”

“I have actually been thinking about that. I’ve been looking at floor plans online, to see what appeals to me. I’ve decided my highest priorities are the kitchen and the study, followed by the bathroom. This kitchen is spacious by Victorian era standards, but not so much so by current day. It interests me how people’s ideas of what is ‘enough’ have changed over time. Relatively speaking, it wasn’t so long ago that having a fire pit and some shelter from the elements was considered ‘enough’. Now, that would be considered abject poverty. But I digress.” He visibly shook himself. “I am wont to do so. I apologize.”

Wont to do so? Dean stifled a grin. He didn’t know if he’d ever heard anyone use that phrase in actual speech, not just some stuffy old literature novel. It was kind of adorable -- and kind of hot. Who knew he had a kink for archaic usage of language? “No apology necessary. I think it’s an interesting thought. And this isn’t the big city. There’s time for digression. It makes things way more interesting than just sticking to the topic all the time, don’t you think? And if you never get back to the original topic, then it wasn’t all that important to begin with, or else we’ll just catch up on it another time.”

Cas tilted his head to the side again, regarding Dean as though he was trying to figure him out. As though Dean were some sort of a novelty, or something foreign to his experience entirely. “That is a unique philosophy.”

“Not so unique in Caroline, Kansas, you’ll find. I don’t know how many times I’ve had people call me two, three days later to say oh, we got to talking and I forgot I was going to ask you to do this other thing. Anyhow. Kitchen.”

“Yes. The kitchen.” Cas looked around the space. “I believe that my brother mentioned I enjoy cooking. I’ve coveted some of the kitchens I’ve seen on television shows and in magazines. I realize those are showplace kitchens and not realistic for the general populace, and yet I believe there is substantial room for improvement in this space even if it doesn’t approach those models.”

Dean parsed through that. “So you’d like to remodel,” he concluded. “Gotta be honest, if you want to do much more than replace the appliances you’ll probably need to either expand into an adjacent room, or blow out this back wall and make an addition. And if we kept the footprint your appliance choices would be seriously limited. They make them a lot bigger than they did when this house was built.”

“You could do that? Make an addition and make the space larger? Without losing the character of the existing house?”

“Yeah, I could do that. I’d need help for parts of it, but I could do most of it myself. Comes down to the time factor. If I’m working alone it goes slower than if I contract out parts of it. I’ve been thinking about what I’d do if it was my decision to make.” Not just thinking about it. Daydreaming about it. He’d loved this old house for a long time, and working on her every day left him a lot of time to consider the options. “I’d build out into the yard, make the kitchen about three times the current size. Include a screened-in porch and pave a terrace for outdoor entertaining space. Even if you don’t entertain, it would be a nice spot to sit with a book and a cold beer when it’s warm out. The rest of the house, some of the rooms are on the small side too. I might knock out one or two walls, or widen the space between rooms. Upstairs, eliminate one of the bedrooms and use the space to expand the master and put in a nice master bath. If you really wanted to go all out, expand even more, put a couple more bedrooms upstairs. You should be considering replacing the siding anyhow, so if you wanted to add on or reconfigure at all, doing that before putting the new siding on would make it almost impossible to tell where the additions were, as long as the style matched.”

Cas’ eyes went unfocused as he visualized what Dean was talking about. Then he nodded. “I could see that. I will take that under advisement.” He turned around and topped off his coffee cup. “Safety concerns first. Then my workspace, because with everything else that will need to be done here, I will need a sanctuary that I can retreat to. And perhaps a good pair of noise cancelling headphones.”

Dean laughed. “That is a very good idea.”

“How long do you think it will take to complete remediating the safety issues?”

“It’s the end of February now… we’re probably talking another month or so before we can move into cosmetic issues. If you want to just keep plowing ahead. You might want to take a little break here and there. And take some time to really plan out what you want to do for the major things. You’ve barely started living here.”

“And I was not planning to be able to move to a house of my own. Yes, that is good advice as well. Thank you.”

Dean sipped at his coffee. It was hot, and strong, but smooth. Cas used a good blend of beans. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt companionable, and that, in Dean’s experience, was rare. Usually he felt like he needed to fill the silences, but not with Cas.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make out of that.

Finishing his coffee, he set the mug down. “Well. Guess I’d best be getting to work.”

“Yes, I should as well.”

Still, Dean caught sight of Cas still standing in the kitchen, watching him as he grabbed his gear out of the truck.


	8. Chapter 8

Gabriel plopped down in the middle of the front room floor — the one he’d cleaned with the new vacuum cleaner not long ago — and unwrapped a chocolate bar. “You look good like that.”

Cas arched a brow at him.

“Sitting in an armchair with a book, in front of your very own fireplace. With the old wooden windows. It’s so stereotypical I could almost puke, but still. It’s a good look on you. Would be better if the armchair was a rich buttery leather instead of that old velvet monstrosity, but hey, not everything can be perfect.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome. I think.” Gabriel bit into the chocolate, then extended it towards Cas in offering. Cas shook his head. “Your loss. Anyhow. I think I’m going to head out tomorrow. It’s important to get to your apartment before Mikey or Luc think about breaking in.”

Cas shuddered. That thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it should have. His older brothers weren’t above such things, and the apartment lease was actually in Michael’s name, not Castiel’s own. “Oh. Yes.”

“You going to be okay here by yourself, though? You don’t have a car yet.”

“We’ve already determined that the grocer will deliver, and that I can have things shipped directly here as well. I’ll look into getting a car, though perhaps not right away. There are so many other things to be done. We haven’t gotten very far yet in sorting through Great Aunt Hester’s belongings.”

“You can always ask Dean-o to help if there’s something too heavy to manage on your own.”

“If it’s too heavy for me to handle then it certainly would have been too heavy for Hester to manage.”

“Could be older than that. Or something stuck where it is for precisely that reason. Because she couldn’t move it.”

“I would just leave such things, if I needed to. Honestly, I can get by for now with just my bedroom, my office, and the kitchen.”

“Hm. Okay, I guess you can manage, at least temporarily. Any particular instructions for the things in your apartment?”

“The furnishings all stay. It was rented furnished. The other things… have packed in boxes, I suppose, and shipped here. It’s more expensive to pack and ship everything, but far more time-consuming to make decisions about each thing from another state.”

“So I’ll just send everything.”

 * * *

Cas thought he would have ended up being lonely after Gabriel left, if it wasn’t for Dean and the work being done on the house. They were still working through necessary repairs rather than tackling the remodeling — things like replacing rotting boards on the porch, switching out light fixtures that no longer worked, and cleaning the furnace thoroughly.

The days fell into a routine. Cas woke in the morning, setting his alarm early enough to be up before Dean arrived, making enough coffee for two. They shared a few minutes in the kitchen, Dean talking about what he was hoping to accomplish for the day while Cas listened. Occasionally Cas would share an idea he had about what to do with the house.

He wanted to say other things, to branch out from the topics of their business connection, but every time he started to, he lost his courage. Surely Dean wouldn’t be interested. Theirs was a professional relationship, after all. Dean was there to do work that Castiel desperately needed done on this house. He wasn’t there to be a friend, even if he was friendly. There was a distinct difference.

One day, about a week after Gabriel returned to Chicago, Dean came up to the turret room and knocked on the door. “Hey, Cas? I know you don’t like to be interrupted when you’re working, but there’s a truck here with a delivery. You want me to sign for it?”

The warmth that filled Cas’ chest at that question was somewhat alarming. He shouldn’t be so grateful that Dean understood he didn’t want to deal with it. Deliveries were chaos, and chaos could set him on edge for hours, completely destroying his productivity. “Yes, please, that would be very kind of you.”

“No problem, dude. This your stuff from Chicago?”

“That is the only delivery I am currently expecting.”

“Awesome. I’ll have it stacked in the front room, and then if you want I can help you move it to wherever you want it.” Dean’s footsteps retreated.

Cas looked around the turret room. It still wasn’t much. He’d relocated a small folding table and chair he’d found in one of Great Aunt Hester’s closets, setting them up as a work surface after cleaning the room as much as he reasonably could. Scrubbing the floor took time. Some of the spots on the floor he didn’t want to think about too much. Getting the roof replaced was not a project that could be postponed indefinitely, if there were the occasional small animal getting inside. He was fairly sure there were mice in the house. Perhaps he would get a cat. Or at the very least some live traps to set out. He liked mice, but that didn’t mean he wanted to share his living space with them.

Dean had pointed out that if he was considering putting on an addition, it would save money to replace the roof at that time, not to mention ensure that the new roof would match what was over the existing construction.

That was a worry for another day, however. He stood up and walked over to the windows in the turret room. These windows were what drew him to the room. They were beautiful, gorgeous wood frames and had views of much of the property. He watched while the delivery crew hauled stack after stack of boxes into the house.

Hopefully the delivery included his books and other reference materials. He’d been working mostly on the fiction, because that came primarily from his imagination, and he could just make notes about things he would want to research later. The technical contract work, however, was falling behind. He would need to put in a lot of hours if he was to meet his deadlines. He couldn’t work on those projects without his reference library.

He looked around the room again. There had been a rug on the wood plank floor, but he’d tossed that out as being unsalvageable.

Thumping noises sounded from the ground floor, and the occasional muffled voices. He could pick Dean’s out, even if he couldn’t make out the specific words.

Lately Cas had been finding Dean more and more attractive. He supposed that intellectually he’d recognized immediately that the other man was handsome. His features were well proportioned, and he had beautiful eyes. There was a difference, however, between being handsome and being attractive. The more Cas got to know Dean, the more attractive he found him.

Dean. Cas chewed on his lower lip. It was just as well, he supposed, that Dean was married with a baby. Cas hadn’t seen a wedding ring, but that meant nothing. Doing physical labor as Dean did, surely wearing a ring could be dangerous, or at the very least risk marring the ring itself. Far better to leave something like that at home.

Those sorts of thoughts were dangerous. He had no business even musing about such things. Hadn’t that's proved a massive mistake before? The greatest disaster of his life, and one that he was still paying for in countless ways. He’d thought he was past such things.

He needed to be past such things. Feelings of every sort were a nuisance at best, a crippling weakness at worst.

He sighed. No sense trying to get anything more done with his work right now. The delivery wouldn’t take long, and then it would be time to start cataloging the boxes, opening them to determine what was what, deciding what he needed right away and what could wait.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean called out a short time later, after he heard the rumble of the truck pulling away again. “They’re gone.”

Cas closed down his laptop and descended the stairs to the front room. “Oh my.” There were more boxes than he had anticipated. Did he really own that much stuff?

“Yeah, time for a treasure hunt, huh?” Dean grinned and rubbed his hands together. “What’s the plan?”

Cas stared blankly at the stacked boxes for a moment, feeling overwhelmed. He reminded himself they were just boxes. He could do this. Steeling himself, he came forward to look at the first one. They weren’t labeled with anything other than the shipping labels. “I don’t see anything to distinguish one from another,” he whined, immediately embarrassed that such a noise had come out of his throat.

Dean turned one box to look at each side. “Nope. Nothin’. So the ‘treasure hunt’ is more accurate than I realized, huh? Who packed this for you?”

“Gabriel. Or at least he arranged for it. I believe he did most of it himself, or at least supervised. He would not delegate such a personal task even farther.”

Dean winced sympathetically at that news, then shrugged. “You could call him, find out if there’s any method to his madness.”

“Oh. That is a very good idea.” Cas pulled out his phone and scrolled to Gabriel’s name -- pretending that scrolling was necessary. All of his contacts fit on one, maybe two screens on his contact list, and half of those were services rather than individuals. It was a silly pretense, he supposed, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. It didn’t dawn on him right away that Dean would just assume that Gabriel was at the top of his contact list, rather than that the number of contacts was so pathetically small.

He flushed at the thought, and turned half away so that perhaps Dean wouldn’t notice.

“Hey-o Cassie,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Get your gifts?”

“They do not qualify as gifts when they are my belongings to begin with,” Cas pointed out acerbically. “But yes. The delivery truck arrived and brought the boxes. Is there any sort of labeling system?”

“Oh.” Momentary silence. “I suppose that might have been useful, huh?”

Cas growled. “Perhaps so, yes.”

“Sorry, didn’t think about that part. I was just trying to get it done. Well, the heavier ones probably have your books in them, and the lighter ones will tend to be clothes and bedding. The ones that make a lot of noise are things that weren’t packed as carefully as they should have been.”

Cas tensed his hands and took a deep breath. “Well.” He swallowed back his irritation. “I see. Thank you for taking care of this for me, Gabriel.” He reminded himself that he really was grateful. It would be a long time before he voluntarily returned to Chicago, now that he’d finally escaped.

“No thanks needed. You’re my baby bro, Castiel.” And that was really all that needed to be said. “Call me tonight. I need to get going now, though.”

“All right. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone and looked across the room to Dean.

“Yeah, I heard. No method to the madness. So, guess we just have to dig in, huh? Do you want to open everything first, make sure there’s nothing you’d be uncomfortable with me handling?”

Cas considered that for a moment. “No, that is unnecessary. You can open them and then tell me or show me what’s inside, and then label the box with where it should go. I truly hope that Gabriel was exaggerating about not having any organization scheme to how he packed — or at the very least, that he didn’t go out of his way to be random about how he packed the boxes, because I had my belongings somewhat organized at the apartment. He would have had to work to combine bathroom items with books. Though I would not put it past him. He has a twisted sense of humor, at times.”

Dean grinned. “The joys of brothers.”

“At least he _has_ a sense of humor.”

“Ouch.”

“I believe you have not had the pleasure of meeting my two eldest brothers.”

“That’s right. I think I saw ‘em at Daisy Diner the day of the funeral. They looked… somewhat out of place.”

Cas huffed a laugh. “I imagine they would. I imagine I would as well.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

Cas arched a brow and gave him a hard look.

Dean laughed. “Okay, maybe you would, but not in the same way.”

“Please, do elaborate.”

 “That’s not fair, man. I’m not as good with words as you are. Didn’t Gabe say you’re a writer? Of, what was it, something on ancient literature?”

“Symbolism in mythology and ancient literature, yes. Most people equate the field to the protagonist in the Da Vinci Code books.”

“And the movie. Okay, yeah. So it’s like that?”

“Only vaguely. But it gets the general idea across using shorthand rather than laborious explanations.” He hesitated, not sure he wanted to admit the huge gaps in his popular culture education. Still, conversation required volunteering information now and then, rather than simply answering questions. As far as information to volunteer was concerned, this was nothing compared to some of his other options. “I’ve read the books, but I’ve never actually seen the movie.”

“Dude! Okay, that one’s lower on the list than a boat load of others, but still, if it’s kind of your field and all… How do you get into something like that, anyhow?”

“Do you want the standard answer, or the more truthful one?”

“Ooo. Lay it on me, baby.” He made a ‘come on’ gesture with his hands, his warm green eyes showing a spark of interest.

Cas swallowed. Taken out of context, those words and that gesture… well, suffice it to say that he was unfortunately positive that they would make a repeat appearance in his thoughts, despite his intentions otherwise. Dean was married. With a small child. Entirely heterosexual, and unavailable even if he weren’t.

Given that, it was perhaps unwise to share anything of such a personal nature. Though perhaps… perhaps it actually made it less of a risk? Since Dean was married, there was no risk of Castiel falling prey once again to another situation like the one he escaped with so much difficulty. Perhaps they could be friends. Actual friends, of a sort Castiel had read and written about but never really experienced for himself.

He turned to the first box, using the simple act of picking the tape away from the cardboard to give himself something to do with his hands. That was always calming. “My family has always been both religious and wealthy, both of which bring with them a certain set of behavioral expectations. I went to school at a private parochial school, and then attended a small liberal arts college. I was expected to get a degree in some sort of business-related skill so that I might take my place in the family business. Instead, I chose the most impractical and unmarketable degree program that I could find.”

“Cas, you rebel, you,” Dean said, grinning in appreciation and approval. “All the while neglecting to share the specifics with the fam?”

“If by that you mean I chose not to go into detail with my brothers about the educational program I was pursuing, then yes. You are correct. Michael and Luc did not expect that I would stray from the path set for me, so they did not pursue independent verification of my course of study. Somewhat to my own surprise, I found that I enjoyed the topic immensely. And while the employment opportunities are extremely limited, there is a small market for scholarly works on the subject even if you are not an official member of the academic community.”

Cas felt his cheeks and the back of his neck go warm. He wasn’t lying, not exactly. Everything he’d said was truthful, including his enjoyment of the field. There was something fascinating about the commonality of certain symbolic elements across different cultures, and likewise fascinating about how the meanings evolved. But he was well aware of the implication in his words that his scholarly works were the sole source of his income. That simply wasn’t true, nor was it even more true than false. His fiction works brought in a far more generous income. It might even be enough to renovate this house without having to draw on the inheritance from Great Aunt Hester.

“Awesome. I like it,” Dean said, interrupting Cas’ ponderings. He pulled a small pocket knife out of his back pocket and cut his box open before closing the knife again and tossing it to Cas.

Cas, of course, wasn’t expecting it, so rather than neatly catching it, he belatedly reached out, causing it to bounce off of his knuckles and into the middle of the pile of boxes, naturally finding an opening in the center of the stacks and sliding down between them.

Dean broke out laughing. “Okay then. Bet you’d never be able to make that shot if you were actually trying to.” He shifted boxes until he managed to retrieve his knife. “Much easier to just cut them open than try and dig the tape off with your fingernails. Especially when you don’t have much in the way of fingernails to begin with.”

“Noted.”

They settled in to open boxes, agreeing that figuring out what each box contained would be more valuable than dealing with them one at a time. Thankfully Gabriel did seem to have boxed things based on where they were in Castiel’s apartment, so the organization wasn’t quite as bad as it could have been.

“Dude!” Dean exclaimed at about the tenth box. “You read SFF?” He held up a book.

Cas froze, afraid that it was one of… no. Okay. He could relax. That one was Tolkien. “Yes. When I can. I enjoy it, the extension of the realm of mythology into current day literature.”

Dean opened the box more fully, pulling out more books before Cas realized his intention. “Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Anne Bishop — haven’t read her stuff but I’ve intended to — Steven Emmanuel? Dude! You’ve got awesome taste in books.”

Fuck. The heat rose again in his face. “Thank you?” He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But somehow his traitorous mouth opened and started talking anyhow. “You’ve read Steven Emmanuel?”

“Hell yeah. He’s one of my favorites. Kind of new, still, though, so not too many books out yet. Well, there are six out, so I guess that’s not super new. He’s got great characterization, and the worlds are so complex and yet real, you know?”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? It certainly couldn’t be ‘thank you’. No one could know about Steven Emmanuel. No one but Hannah. Not even Gabriel knew.

Such an irony that anyone thought he was great at characterization, when he was so bad at interacting with real people. His fictional people, however, always did what he wanted them to, or if not, at least they let him know what was really going on in their heads. They didn’t make him believe something while plotting something entirely different. They didn’t pretend to care for him. They didn’t pretend to love him, while what they really loved was a pathway to the Novak fortune.

Dammit. He wasn’t going to go there. The ache behind his breastbone was so sharp, so intense, that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

“You okay there?” Dean’s voice was closer than Cas remembered, soft, quiet, gently capturing his attention without demanding it. It helped to ground him in the here and now.

Cas swallowed, shoving the familiar ache aside. “Yes. Of course. What else have you read?”

“Not as much as I would like to. But gotta admit, I’ve got a fondness for Vonnegut.”

“Any particular work, or his entire catalog?”

They settled in to discussing more literature as they continued to unpack, the conversation surprisingly lively. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised, but Cas wasn’t used to talking to anyone who encouraged him to talk about the odd things he was interested in.

“Hey, look what I found.” Dean held up an immense lollipop, coiled hard candy in bright neon stripes.

“Gabriel.” Cas rolled his eyes.

“Oh. He said he owned a sweet shop.”

“Yes. Is there more in there? He knows I prefer chocolates to lollipops, especially those monstrosities.” The one Dean held had to be the size of a dinner plate.

Dean shuffled through the contents of the box. “Not in here, but maybe in another box?”

Before Cas realized it, more than two hours passed while sorting through boxes, discussing literature with Dean and finding the occasional sweets.

“Oh wow, look at the time,” Dean exclaimed. “I gotta get going here. I’ve got another appointment this afternoon.”

Cas simply nodded, hoping that his disappointment wasn’t visible. “Of course, Dean. Thank you for your assistance. I would not have gotten anywhere near this far without your help.”

“No problem, man. That’s what friends are for. I’ll be back in the morning. And maybe I’ll bring my favorite book for you to read, and we can talk about it after.” There was a hopeful gleam in Dean’s green eyes. He had very pretty eyes. Such a lovely color, long lashes, and that sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

“I would like that. Yes.” He nodded and stood up, stretching his back with a pop, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness. “You should take some of the candy with you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“You absolutely could, and should.” He walked Dean to the door, making sure he remembered the tools he’d abandoned when the delivery showed up. “Gabriel will send more than I would ever choose to eat.”

“If you insist.” Dean grinned, accepting the small pile of sweets. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Cas. Take care. See ya then.”

“I’ll have the coffee waiting.”

 * * *

Deeply concentrating on a key action scene in his current book, Cas startled when his phone rang. He wasn’t used to getting calls. He picked up the phone with only a little irritation for being interrupted in the middle of a good writing flow. He’d been tempted to let it go to voicemail, but the caller ID said ‘Gabriel’, and he had said he would call back tonight. So Cas saved his work and picked up his phone.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

“Cassie poo! How’s my favoritest little brother?”

“I am your only younger brother.”

“Well, that’s true. Also I can safely just call you my favorite brother, because, after all, who’s the competition? Question stands. How are you doing?”

Cas felt a small rush of affection. “Well enough.”

“That’s a great, super informative answer. So glad to hear it.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Did you get the boxes unpacked?”

“I did, with Dean’s assistance. And yes, we found your gifts. Thank you. Actually they aren’t entirely unpacked, but they have all been opened and brought to the room where their contents will reside.”

Gabriel chuckled at that. “Where their contents will reside,” he repeated, laughing again.

“Why is that amusing?” Cas demanded.

“Come on, Cassie. Most people don’t talk like that. It’s cute. And so very, very you. Don’t ever change. Well, not that part, anyhow.”

Cas wasn’t entirely sure how to take that.

Luckily Gabriel changed the subject. “How is Great Aunt Hester’s house holding up? Anything falling apart yet?”

“No. In fact, it is in much better condition than when you left. Dean finished with the electric upgrade and replaced everything that was a hazard. He’s ordered a new furnace, and it should arrive next week.”

“Dean, is it?”

“You knew that, Gabriel. You’re the one that hired him.”

“Yeah, but. _Dean._ ” He said the name with a certain lilt, a teasing sing-song voice.

“Am I supposed to call him Mr. Winchester?”

“No, no, of course not. So he fixed the electric? And you can use the kitchen without worrying it’s going to burn down around your ears?”

“Temporarily, yes. I am thinking even more seriously that I want to remodel the kitchen. But not until the weather turns warmer. It will be a significant amount of work and a significant inconvenience while the work is being done, but when it is complete I will have the kitchen I’ve always wanted. The kitchen in the condo in Chicago was a nicely equipped kitchen, I suppose, but it was so… cold.”

“Stainless steel and concrete, yeah. Modern industrial decor is so not you, baby bro. What are you thinking?”

“Something warm and natural. Dean suggested cherry; it’s a hard wood and very durable, as well as being beautiful. I want something more traditional. Somewhere that I want to spend time, somewhere welcoming. Nurturing. With enough space to make food preparation easy.” He was vaguely aware that he was getting dreamy. That could be alarming, exposing himself that way, his desires and vulnerabilities, but… it was Gabriel. Gabe might tease him, might say the most outrageous things, but he’d never actually hurt him deliberately.

“I’m considering making a garden too. It will need to be far enough from the house that it doesn’t get trampled when construction starts. We’ll likely make an addition. This kitchen, while spacious by Victorian standards, is cramped by modern ones.”

“Yeah. I was there. Bumping out the back of the house and building an entirely new one is the way to go, and you can afford it with what Hessie left you. Tell me more about this garden. Flowers or vegetables?”

“Both. Well, separate plots, mostly likely, though there are certain flowers which serve as natural deterrents to wildlife nibbling on vegetable seedlings. I should likely start with a small plot, learn what I need to. I’ve never grown my own produce before. It’s probably too late to special order particular seeds or plants, but I can get things that are common to the area, and learn what I need to know. Apparently there are quite a few things to learn. Things like soil density, the nutrient balance, how much to water things… and different plants have different ideal treatment, though many can do quite well even under less than ideal circumstances.”

Gabriel chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. When you decide you’re interested in something, you always do. Sounds like you’re doing okay there. Did you get a car yet?”

“Um. No. Not yet.”

“Still relying on delivery service, huh?”

“It is efficient.”

“Hey, you do you, bro.”

“As if I could ‘do’ anyone else.” He replayed that in his head. “That didn’t come out the way I intended.”

“No kidding.” Cas could see Gabriel’s ear-splitting grin as clear as day. “Anyhow. One more thing, before I go.” His voice went more serious, which was quite unusual for Gabriel.

That alone was enough to tip off the subject. “Michael. Or Luc. Or both.”

“Yeah. Both. They independently questioned me about the terms of the will. I didn’t say anything more than that I don’t know the details, but that you’d be able to pay for the renovation without tapping family funds. Hint hint, it’s actually good for you two asses if Cas has an independent means of supporting himself.”

Cas swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. “Michael and Luc are incapable of just letting something be if they have the slightest belief that they’re not getting what they believe they are entitled to.”

“I know. Believe me, I know that. I wanted to give you a head’s up, though. They’re not letting it go right away. Maybe they will, if they don’t find anything.”

“Unlikely. It’s more likely that not finding anything will just convince them that it’s hidden and they need to dig harder.”

“I know. Sucks. Anyhow… You be okay if I don’t get back there as soon as I’d originally hoped? I want to, but there are some things going on with the shop that I have to deal with. If you need me to I’ll be there, but sounds like you’re getting on okay and maybe I can wait a while longer?”

Cas considered. “Yes, I will be okay.” He thought about the fact that he’d gone for years without Gabriel stopping in to check up on him, during that time his brother had been ‘finding himself’ in Asia, but he knew better than to bring that up. It wasn’t like he’d actually done well for himself during that time, and Gabriel still felt residual guilt over not seeing what was happening sooner.

“I’ll check in with you, anyhow. Whether I’m there or not.”

“I know.” Cas smiled, warmed by the fierce protectiveness in Gabriel’s tone. Usually he presented himself as an affable fool, but when his protective instincts were roused he turned into a fierce warrior.

“Good night, Gabriel.”


	9. Chapter 9

Winter moved into early spring, and Dean completed the basic safety repairs at Cas’ place. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d stopped thinking of it as ‘the Albright place’ and started thinking of it as Cas’ place, but somewhere along the line, it had just happened. He’d been regularly spending two or three days a week out there, sometimes an extra couple of hours. The work was hard but rewarding, finally being able to make the repairs he’d wanted to do for years.

Gradually he and Cas developed more of a friendship, though there were still times that Cas was skittish, if Dean crossed some boundary that he didn’t entirely understand. Worse, or maybe better? the boundary seemed to be shifting.

“I’m almost done up at Cas’ place, at least with the repairs,” he dropped into the conversation at Sunday dinner at Sam and Jess’ place. They were having stir fry tonight, with far too many crisp vegetables, but at least there were deep fried cream cheese wontons too. Those were courtesy of Jess. Mostly she went along with, and encouraged, Sam’s near obsession with healthy eating, but she also adamantly insisted on the occasional fried food, because she loved them.

“Does that mean you won’t be going there anymore?” Jess asked, her brow wrinkling with concern. “I mean, it’s great if you finish, but it seems like you like going out there.”

“Didn’t you say something about him wanting to do some remodeling, too?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, but I really need to catch up on some of my other stuff before I start something like a major remodel. At a minimum he needs to do something with the kitchen, if he doesn’t go with a larger addition. He _should_ start with the kitchen. He likes to cook, and he really needs something that will let him.”

“Is he any good?”

“I don’t know, actually. He makes a mean cup of coffee, but I haven’t eaten there.”

“Huh. Maybe you’ll get a chance soon. Or if you end up destroying his kitchen temporarily, you could offer the use of yours.”

Mariel made a little cooing noise, and Sam grinned. “See? She agrees with me. Thinks that Uncle Dean has a little crush on Castiel Novak.”

Dean scowled. “Do not.” Technically true. There was nothing particularly little about the crush he had on Cas.

“Uh huh. Seriously, though, you should do something. Outside of your working relationship. You like the guy. Friends, at least. Do you know if he’s open to guys?”

“Sam, f-drop it.” Mariel might be too little to crawl yet, let alone repeat flying f-bombs, but he was training himself for the inevitable day. Her first ‘fuck’ was not going to be repeating Uncle Dean. No way, no how. “I don’t know if he’s open to anyone at all, sexuality wise. Don’t know if he’s straight or gay or bi or what. Or ace. I just think he got burned by someone, somewhere along the way, and pretty badly.”

“Yeah, I got that impression too. I think he’s lonely, though. Isolated by choice, maybe, but still lonely.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed and pushed his food around with his fork, suddenly not as hungry as he had been. “I’m working on that. I think… I don’t think I’m imagining that we’re developing a friendship, anyhow. I want him to trust me. Trying for anything beyond friendship risks betraying that trust, and he needs a friend more than he needs any sort of sexual or romantic relationship. I’d be interested, definitely. Guy’s pretty awesome. But I can’t do that to him. So.”

“So friends it is. Okay. I get it.”

Dean could hear the unvoiced ‘for now’ in his brother’s voice, but thankfully he didn’t actually say it, so Dean could pretend he didn’t know it was there. He appreciated Sam’s concern for his personal relationships, or lack thereof, but that didn’t mean he wanted active interference. He could manage his own love life, thank you very much. Just because it had been a while since the last person he’d bothered introducing to his family… well.

“I’m going to talk Cas into going to the Roadhouse with me,” he abruptly voiced something he’d been toying with for some time. “I’d like him to realize that the people around here, at least a big chunk of them, are good people and would like to get to know him. He could use a bigger support system than Gabriel.”

“He’s got you. And us.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure he realizes that, and he needs more than that. If he’s going to stay here, he should know a few more people than me and you.”

 * * *

Early the next week, Dean finished replacing a light fixture in the front room. “That should be it. Basics are done.” He had a weird feeling at that. Anything beyond this wasn’t really necessary so much as it would be personal preference on Cas’ part. He could admit to himself that he’d taken longer out here than strictly necessary, just because he enjoyed hanging out with Cas.

“It?” Cas questioned, his expression confused.

“Yeah. Place is all tight and cozy now, nothing major needed for repairs. Anything else… well. We haven’t started anything on the kitchen yet. Just made it so that the electricity isn’t likely to blow on you if you try turning on more than two things at once. Don’t know if you want to move right into the remodeling stuff, or if you want to take a little while to live with the place, decide more what you want to do.”

“Oh. Hm. Are… are you available to start on the other projects?” His tone was carefully flat and blank, which Dean found oddly encouraging. The fact that Cas was trying not to let any emotion show in his voice meant, had to mean, that there was emotion he didn’t want to show.

“Sure. Honestly, though, I should probably take a week or two to catch up on some of my other projects before we get started.”

“Of course, Dean. I believe I would wish to start with my study. I spend most of my time there, and it would be quite nice to make the space more suitable for the work I do. Besides, any larger renovations will likely require the services of an architect. I don’t believe that’s something you are able to provide.”

“Not personally, but I know someone. You know what you want for a reno?”

“More or less. If I am going to do an addition, it makes sense to do the structural work all at once. You had mentioned at one point that you believe the roof and siding should be replaced.”

“I’d certainly recommend doing all of that at the same time. Matching roof tiles and siding can be tricky, if you don’t buy from the same batch. The colors can be far different from different lots.”

“So you are agreeing that doing everything right away is the wise move.”

“In your particular circumstance, yes. You know what you want? As far as an addition and kitchen layout are concerned?”

“I believe that I do. I have been performing some research, looking at home plans online. I know at least the general outlines of what I would like, if not how to accomplish it.”

“Awesome!” Dean grinned, then hesitated. “Y’know, Cas, we should celebrate the end of Phase I. Maybe go out for a beer? We could go on the early side. The Roadhouse is pretty quiet on a Tuesday afternoon.” As far as Dean knew, and he was certain he would have heard, Cas had yet to make an appearance at the local businesses. He had his groceries and other supplies delivered. He didn’t even have a car yet, though he did some running, and had been working out in the yard.

Dean was well aware that the idea of going out was going to make Cas tense. But maybe if he went with Dean it would be okay. And the Roadhouse was a safe environment. Ellen would make sure of it. Hell, if it got to be too much he was pretty sure he could bring Cas into the back room, where it would be more quiet.

Cas caught his lower lip between his teeth, regarding Dean with some apprehension. But then he nodded. “You’re right. We should celebrate. And I confess, you have told me enough about this Roadhouse to make me curious. The burger you brought me was quite delicious. I am certain it would be even better fresh from the grill, rather than transported wrapped in foil.”

“Oh man, you have no idea. Ellen makes the most incredible bacon cheeseburgers. Yeah, I guess you know that because I brought you one, but yeah. SO much better when it’s right off the grill and the cheese is still warm, all melty and gooey and… yeah.” Just thinking about one of those burgers was enough to make his stomach growl. “And the bacon…”

“Stop,” Cas said, laughing. “You have already convinced me. You don’t need to continue.”

“Awesome. Shall we, then? Just let me wash up and we’ll head over there.” Dean had to turn his head aside before Cas saw the delight there. He’d thought, maybe, if he just tossed the invitation out there casually and took action right away, then Cas wouldn’t have time to get too nervous about the whole thing.

In the bathroom Dean pulled out his phone and texted Ellen. _Talked Cas into coming to Roadhouse 4 burgers. Plz keep it low key. Don’t want to overwhelm him._

His phone buzzed as he was drying his hands. _Roger that. I’ll keep Jo on other tables._ Dean settled in relief. He loved Jo, he really did, but she was rapidly becoming as scary as her mom, without the same sense of discretion. She’d been curious about Cas for a long time. Dean didn’t talk much about him, knowing without having to ask that Cas wouldn’t appreciate being the subject of gossip. He couldn’t stop people from talking, but he could avoid being the one to spread it.

Cas was looking a little pale, but he hadn’t disappeared to lock himself in the turret room, so Dean counted that a win. “You ready?” He pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket and tossed them, catching them again with a jingle.

“As I’ll ever be.” He pulled on his tan trench coat and followed Dean out of the house, locking the door behind himself.

Dean opened the passenger door before going around to hop in behind the wheel. “Next time I come over, if I’m not hauling a bunch of construction gear, I’m bringing Baby. You need to meet her.” The pick-up was practical, but now that the weather was getting warmer, he desperately wanted to be driving the Impala. There was no comparison between the two.

He missed the bleak look in Cas’ face, since the other man was figuring out how to fasten his shoulder belt. “Yes, I would like to meet her.”

“She’s gorgeous. Light of my life.” He laughed. “Okay. So. You know anything about the Roadhouse?”

“Not really. Just that they have very good bacon cheeseburgers, and you are close to the proprietor.”

“Ellen. Harvelle. Ellen Harvelle. She’s been running the place for as long as I’ve been around. When I was a kid it was her and her husband, Bill, but when he passed she continued on her own. She’s got a daughter, Jo, who’s a few years younger than me and Sammy. She works there. I’ve worked there myself, still help out now and then when Ellen’s short-staffed. She… she was there for us, a lot, when we were kids, after Mom passed. And when Dad was out of town a lot, working. So yeah. We’re close.”

Cas nodded, digesting that. “Have you spoken to them, about me? Do they have any expectations?”

Now that was a loaded question. Dean really, really, really didn’t want to make Cas uncomfortable. But he also didn’t want to be dishonest. So how did he phrase the answer in a way that wouldn’t set Cas on edge, at least not any more on edge than he already was?

“I’ve said a little. More about the job than about you specifically. I mean, yeah, they’re curious. It’s a small town. New people move in, people are curious.”

“Especially when the new people are reclusive and avoid making public appearances even in such simple, ordinary locations as the grocer.” Dean could hear self-condemnation in that tone.

“That makes you a man of mystery.” He grinned. “People like to solve mysteries. It’s cool, though. Maybe someday day you’ll be comfortable going into town and conducting that everyday business in person. But if not, that’s cool, too. Your life, your choices. I’m just glad you’re letting me have a little corner of it. You’re pretty awesome, dude.”

Cas arched a brow. “I am?”

“Hell yeah you are. You’re smart, and funny, and just… awesome.” Yeah, going into the _hot as hell_ aspects? Not a good idea. Maybe someday. But not now.

“Well.” Cas seemed rather nonplussed by that. “Thank you? I haven’t been called ‘awesome’ before. It’s quite flattering.”

Dean blushed. “Well, yeah, you know. Okay. So… you do any exploring around Caroline?” Definitely time for a topic change. Thankfully Cas went along with it, and listened while Dean gave him the whole tour guide routine on the way to the Roadhouse. Cas’ house was southeast of Caroline; the Roadhouse was straight south. Dean could have gotten to the Roadhouse without driving through the city, but he opted to take the route that ran down Main. He pointed out the three bars and two churches, the diner where Gabriel had purchased the donuts, the park with the river running along its southern edge, the grocery and hardware stores. “The library is back that way a block, between Sam’s place and the building where his office is.” He turned south, drove another five blocks. “And here we are. Harvelle’s Roadhouse.”

It was definitely still early, so there weren’t many cars in the gravel parking lot. The Roadhouse was located on the edge of town, with a spacious empty field behind. In the summer wheat grew there. Kansas wheat. But right now there wasn’t much there. “Singer Salvage is just down that road,” he pointed out. “That’s Uncle Bobby’s place. He’s not technically a relative, but like he says, family don’t end in blood. He’s … special.” That didn’t even begin to cover what Bobby meant to him, but it was enough for now.

He led Cas through the doors, making a point of being completely relaxed and casual, though really he was anything but. He could acknowledge to himself, if not to Sam, that he wanted Cas to like the place. Wanted him to like Ellen, and be comfortable here. He liked Cas, liked him a lot, so it made sense that he’d want his friend to hit it off with the people and places that were home to him. It would be awesome to spend the occasional evenings here at the Roadhouse with Cas, drinking a couple beers, shooting a round or two of pool, booing and cheering whatever sports event was on the TV.

But first they had to get through today.

 * * *

Harvelle’s Roadhouse was nothing spectacular from the outside, Cas had thought as Dean pulled into a gravel parking lot and stopped the truck. The building was boxy and had few windows, simply a row of high, narrow panes of glass under the eaves. The exterior was a mix of metal and concrete, and there were neon signs for various brands of beer blinking on and off. He thought they would be much more prominent at night, rather than in the bright light of mid afternoon.

He pushed down the first twinges of anxiety. This place was important to Dean. Dean was becoming more and more important to Cas. If he sometimes felt regret that his new friend was married and had a baby, very clear indication that he was heterosexual and in a committed relationship, well, just as often he convinced himself that was a very good thing. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to let himself enjoy Dean’s company if his attraction had even the slightest chance of being reciprocated. The fact that Dean was so very unavailable made him safe. He reminded himself of that as he followed his friend through the heavy metal door.

Cas blinked twice, letting his eyes become adjusted to the inside lighting. The decor itself was nothing particularly noteworthy. It was a typical bar interior, dark bar with a worn, scratched and gouged surface, a few stools up against the bar, some tables and chairs out in the common area. He could smell the scent of a fryer and food in the back. There weren’t many people here, thankfully. Three patrons, two together, a third bellied up to the bar. A woman of middle years with long hair and a towel slung over her shoulder worked behind the bar, looked up when they entered. Made eye contact with Dean, her expression softening. Dean waved to her.

That was most likely Ellen, the proprietor, whom Dean had claimed fondness for.

She nodded casually, and her gaze flicked quickly over Cas, but she didn’t study him openly.

“Let’s sit back here. It’s my favorite spot.” Dean led them to a booth in the back corner and slid in. Cas carefully removed his trench coat, folding it neatly, then sat down across from him.

Ellen came around herself to take their order. “Hey there, boys,” she said. “Welcome to the Roadhouse.” That was directed more towards Cas.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting very stiffly in his seat.

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean said. “This is my friend Castiel. Cas, this is Ellen.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Castiel.” She put a couple cardboard coasters down in front of them.

“Cas is acceptable.” Dean looked up when he said that, then smiled faintly and nodded in approval. Cas ignored the part of his brain that made him feel all warm and happy because of it.

“Cas it is, then,” Ellen agreed. “What can I get you? First round’s on the house. This time.” She directed a quelling look at Dean before he got any ideas.

He grinned. “How about a couple beers, and two bacon cheeseburgers? I’ve been talking them up. Unless you want something else?”

“No, beer and a burger sounds very good.”

“We’re celebrating getting the safety hazards done at Cas’ place.”

“That’s certainly something worth celebrating. How do you like your burger done, Cas? I know exactly how Dean prefers his, so not even going to ask.”

“Medium, please.”

“What kind of cheese? We’ve got cheddar, Swiss, and pepper jack.”

“Cheddar sounds good.”

“Coming right up.”

“This place seems… hospitable,” Cas said, choosing his words carefully. He was an author. Word choice was important. “Friendly, comfortable, casual.”

“Yeah. It’s almost a home away from home, with as much time as I’ve spent here. It’s a bar, yeah, but back in the day, when I wasn’t in high school anymore and was working here, but Sam still had school, she let him park himself in a corner to do his homework so he was still where I knew he was. I think she felt better being able to keep an eye on him, too. Not that he was the type of kid to get in trouble. Little geek actually wanted to do his homework, and extra credit, and studying things that weren’t even on the syllabus.”

“I can understand that.”

“Yeah, why does that not surprise me?” Dean chuckled, thanked Ellen when she sat two beers down on their table.

“It shouldn’t. I have already told you that I enjoyed my studies at the university, and I work in an academic field.”

“Analyzing myths and symbols, I remember.” Dean took a sip of his beer. “Maybe next time I come by you’ll loan me one of your books. I’m curious.”

Cas flushed, looking down at the coaster his beer rested on. It bore an advertisement for a brand of beer they weren’t drinking. Dean had no idea he’d already read some of Cas’ books — read and enjoyed. He would have had no reason to be enthusiastic about the Steven Emmanuel series otherwise.

“Perhaps. You’re unlikely to find them interesting.”

“What’s the last one you wrote?”

“It was about Mesopotamian symbology and its influences on later civilizations.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

Cas tipped his head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Mesopotamian symbols. Teach me about it.”

That didn’t seem like a good idea, and yet Dean seemed genuinely interested. Highly reluctant, Cas pulled a small notebook and pen out of the inner pocket of his coat, flipped to a blank page, and started drawing a handful of very early symbols.

He started talking about them, answering Dean’s questions as they went. When two plates appeared on the table, just inside his peripheral vision, he blinked in surprise. “The burgers are here already?”

Dean grinned. “Quick service here, especially during the slow time of day. Besides, you were getting deep inside your head there. Interesting stuff. But now… time to try the best burger you’ve ever had in your life.”

“You make it sound as though the heavens should open up and shine a golden light on it.” He put his notebook away and pulled the plate closer. The burger really did look and smell amazing. Cheese melted over the sides of the thick patty, slices of perfectly cooked bacon peeking out from under the crown of the bun.

Dean picked up his burger with both hands and bit into it, making an expression of pure bliss. Cas had to shift in his seat.

“Go ahead. Take a bite.”

Cas picked up the burger, inhaling the char-broiled aroma, then leaned forward over the plate before taking a bite. Flavorful juices exploded across his tastebuds. “Oh.”

“I know, right?”

“This. This is divine.”

Dean looked across the bar and gave Ellen a thumbs-up. Cas followed his gaze, nodded approvingly and then followed suit.

Ellen smiled and nodded before returning to washing out more bar glasses.

Neither Dean nor Cas spoke much while eating. The burger was too good to be distracted by conversation. When it was finished, however, he wiped his fingers on the napkin and took another sip of beer. “Thank you, Dean. This was well worth the trip.”

“Best place in Caroline, hands down. I mean, Daisy Diner has some good stuff, but for my money you can’t compete with the Roadhouse. Not that I’m biased or anything.”

“Of course not.”

They didn’t stay all that long, which Cas was grateful for. More people started arriving, and Cas was starting to feel his shoulders tense.

“Ready to head out?” Dean asked, pulling out his wallet and tucking payment under the edge of his plate.

“Yes, thank you.”


	10. Chapter 10

“And voila!” Dean made the final stroke of the paintbrush with a flourish, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He turned to Cas, a grin on his face.

Cas smiled back, the small little smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and the blue turn a soft, warm color. Dean thought that might be his favorite Cas smile.

“Very good, Dean. Thank you.” The walls of the turret room, Cas’ office, were now a warm burgundy color. It could have been overwhelming in a different room, but there were so many windows in here that it was just striking. Those windows were a bitch to paint around, but Dean was happy to do it.

The windows were open, as well, to help air out the paint smell as well as get it to dry that much faster. The air was warm with the onset of spring, and the fresh smell of new growth.

“It looks good. Good choice on the color.”

“I like it,” Cas agreed. “It makes the green of the trees outside more intense, and in the winter it will make the room seem visually warmer.”

“You sound like Jess. She’s an artist. Goes on about color theory once in a while. I pretend to tease her about it, but really it’s good to know when I do the occasional painting job. Sometimes people know exactly what they want, but other times they just say ‘blue’ and want me to pick the right blue. With what I’ve learned from Jess, I know better why a particular blue will or won’t work with their woodwork and trim.”

That smile turned a little more forced. Why? It didn’t make sense, but asking wouldn’t get him anywhere. So, instead, Dean filed that away to figure out later. Puzzling out Cas was definitely a challenge, but one he was enjoying.

“How long before the paint dries?”

“Not long at all before it’s dry to the touch, if you’re wondering about moving your stuff back in here. I’d give it a couple days before doing any nailing or putting any tape on it or anything. We could start right away as long as we aren’t bumping right up against the walls. Why don’t you let me get it cleaned up, and you can start pulling your boxes back up here?”

“I can help with the cleaning.”

“Cas. That’s what you’re paying me for.” Little jobs like this, he was starting to feel vaguely guilty taking the other man’s money for. They were friends, now, and he did this for people he was close to without charging them for anything but his costs. That was another thing he suspected Cas wouldn’t go for, though.

Cas didn’t protest any further. But when Dean got back upstairs from cleaning out his brushes and rollers, the floor cloth had been neatly removed and the rest of the supplies taken down. He just gave Cas a look that was returned with a perfectly innocent arched brow. “Fine. But I’m helping move your stuff back in.”

A few trips later and the boxes of books were returned to the room, and the writing table and chair located just so in the middle of the floor, facing the view of the windows. “Do you not have anywhere other than the boxes to keep your books?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Oh man, Cas, that’s not cool, dude. Not when your friend is a carpenter. Not cool. Tell you what. I can whip up something quick --  and don’t even start to say it. Bookshelves are easy as pie, man. Actually a lot easier than pie, because pie is hard.”

“Pie is much easier than bookshelves. It’s a matter of perspective — and where your skill sets lie.”

“You telling me you know how to bake pie from scratch? You been holding out on me, Cas?”

“The topic has not come up. And until recently, I would not feel like baking a pie from scratch was a viable option. Not with the unreliable appliances. Baking requires precision, and having the temperature of the oven jump around would be a recipe for, well, for a very bad pie. Burnt in places and raw in others. It would be an embarrassment.”

“But now we’ve fixed the electric, so you could make one, right?”

“Possibly, yes. The oven is still temperamental, so pastry is a hit or miss proposition.”

“Tell you what. I’ll whip you up some temporary bookshelves, meaning they aren’t going to be built-ins that perfectly fit the room, at least not yet. You’re going to want that eventually, aren’t you. And in return, you can make me a pie. Any flavor you prefer, I’m not picky.”

“Oh? So I should make you a spinach strawberry pie?”

Dean pointed a finger at Cas. “You don’t even joke about things like that.”

“So you are already placing limitations, right after you stated any flavor I prefer.”

“Prefer being the operative word. If you really like spinach and strawberry pie, well, I don’t know if we can continue this friendship. I’d be sad to lose you, but some things just can’t be forgiven.”

“I wonder if it’s possible to combine those in a way that is actually appetizing,” Cas mused. “I might consider it a challenge. Spinach salad with strawberries is quite good. But as to barter for the simple, inexpensive, temporary bookshelves, I will adhere to more traditional flavor pairings.”

“Awesome. Hey, you want to come over to my shop? I’ve got a bunch of scrap wood. You can choose what you like best, and I can slap a few together in a couple hours. You can keep me company.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked at that, and took a moment to consider. By the way he was reacting, Dean would think he’d never been invited to hang out with anyone before. That couldn’t be right, could it?

Dean decided to test his theory a little further. “Maybe we could order pizza after, and watch a movie. Or play a little poker. Do you play poker?”

“I know the rules. But don’t you need more than two to play poker?”

“Well, yeah, it’s better with more people. I could have Sam over. You’ve met Sam.”

Cas considered that. “Yes, I have met Sam, and on more than one occasion. I have not spent time with him socially, however.”

“Yeah, I get that. Think you could, though? Just a small number of people, at my place?”

He caught his lower lip between his teeth and considered. “Yes. I believe I would enjoy that.” He sounded rather surprised.

“Awesome. I’ll give him a call and see if he’s free tonight. I think he is.” First, though, he pulled out his tape measure and notepad to make sure the bookshelves would fit just right.

 * * *

Dean gave Cas a ride to his shop on the outskirts of town. The building was a basic cube, with a red brick facade and a smattering of double-hung windows. “I live above the shop,” Dean said. “Rent the whole building. It’s convenient that way. It’s not a huge place, but it works. And it has a garage for Baby.”

Cas frowned. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“A garage for your baby?”

“Yeah. Baby. My Impala. Classic ‘67.”

“Your car,” Cas breathed, suddenly realizing what he meant.

“Yeah. You going to get a car, ever? I could hook you up with something from Bobby’s, if you just want something basic to get you around.”

“Mm. Yes, that is my intent, though I haven’t followed through yet. There are times that it is inconvenient to rely on delivery, and I have been giving some thought to going to a nursery outside of Topeka. Their selection appears quite extensive based upon their website. Not all plants are easy to raise from seed.”

“I’ll find out what’s at the yard and running at the moment. Or else I can bring you over there someday soon, and we’ll take a look at the options.”

Cas followed Dean inside the shop. Suddenly Dean felt nervous. Why had he done this at the spur of the moment? It meant he hadn’t had time to clean up. He worked neat, tidying up as he went, but tidy wasn’t necessarily the same thing as spotless. And then there was his apartment. Had he remembered to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher? He usually did, but had he this time? Shit.

Worse than dirty dishes, what about stray socks, or even underwear? He wasn’t in the habit of leaving his underwear in the living room, but sometimes things fell off of the laundry basket without his noticing.

Cas stopped just inside the doorway, taking a moment to look around, and then slowly wandered about. He lightly ran his fingers over a table Dean was working on for Jody, and a headboard he was hoping to sell despite not having a buyer ready-made. “That one was made from a reclaimed church door,” he told Cas, breathing in. The sawdust and wood scents calmed him. “Sometimes I find some cool architectural pieces at salvage sales and auctions. If they’re interesting and affordable I’ll buy them and turn them into something else.”

“This piece is beautiful, Dean. I hadn’t realized you were an artist.”

Dean flushed. “I’m not. I didn’t make the door. I just turned it into something else.”

“That is artistry. Excellent craftsmanship is a kind of art that is not always appreciated as much as it should be. This work may be transformative in nature, but that does not make it any less of an art form.”

Dean shifted from one foot to the other. Such genuine appreciation felt… it felt good, really good to hear Cas say that, but it also made him feel awkward. He’d never learned to accept praise gracefully. Accepting it at all was something he’d had to work at for years. It genuinely was work, retraining himself. One thing that had helped in that was realizing that if he just said a genuine thank you, people were more likely to move on to the next subject, whereas if he protested they spent the next five, ten minutes trying to convince him that his work was worth the praise.

“Thanks,” he said, nearly tripping over the word in his haste to move on to the next. “My scrap wood is over here. Come take a look and see if anything appeals. The parts I have reserved for other projects are in a different pile.”

“What about this? If I recall correctly, pine is easy to work with and inexpensive. At some point in the future I would indeed like to have built in bookshelves in the room, and based on what I am seeing here, I would definitely order them from you. With that in mind, it doesn’t make sense to do anything more than the functional minimum for the interim period.”

Dean tried not to grin when Cas said all that. Damn, but he talked like Sam when he was on one of his scholarly lecturing kicks. It made his heart feel warm with a surge of affection for the nerdy, adorable dork. “Pine it is, then.” He selected a few suitable boards and carried them over to his table saw. Pulling his notebook out of his pocket, he checked the measurements.

“Three bookshelves, fitting under the windows. They might not hold everything, but it’ll be a good start, and it’ll hold whatever you need for your current projects. Plus you can stack some on top, too, if you want to. Do you want them painted or stained? Or we could just put a clear coat of varnish over them after they’ve been sanded down, but honestly this stuff is probably better off not left natural. It’s kind of knotty, so I’d recommend paint.”

“Kind of naughty?” Cas asked, looking confused. “How is wood naughty? Because it doesn’t take a stain well?”

Dean laughed. “Knotty, Cas. With a ‘k’.”

“ _Oh_. Knotty. As in knots in the wood. I understand. I will defer to your judgment.”

“Good choice. You want to help? I can show you what to do, and stop you from making any big mistakes.”

Cas looked uncertain, but definitely interested.

“They’re gonna be just simple freestanding bookshelves. Pretty hard to screw them up past redemption,” Dean sweetened the pot.

He looked up through his lashes, shy and weirdly vulnerable. “Are you sure? I… am generally not very good at this kind of thing.”

“You just need to learn. And yeah, I’m sure. Hell, worst case? It’s untreated wood. Works in the fireplace. Not that it’ll come to that. Not with me as your teacher.” And oh fuck. He had to turn away quickly, reaching for the pine boards, in order to hide the flush at the unbidden images that turn of phrase surfaced in his mind. He’d definitely like to be teaching Cas a few things. Or maybe he’d be the student.

Fuck.

Completely oblivious, Cas moved a little closer. “In that case, yes. I would very much enjoy learning from you, and having a hand in crafting my own bookshelves.”

“Bookshelves. Yeah.” Focus, Winchester. You could possibly do this in your sleep, but working with power tools? Focus and concentration is always a very good idea.

 * * *

A little less than two hours later, Cas was the proud creator of three mostly straight pine book shelves. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the top shelf, incredulous that he had done this. “I did this,” he said.

“You sure did,” Dean said, beaming at him. It was ridiculous that Dean’s pleasure in his accomplishment could make him feel so warm and gooey inside, and yet… and yet. “We’ll leave ‘em in here for now, and maybe tomorrow or someday soon you can come paint them. Sam’s going to be arriving soon; we should get upstairs and I need to make sure there’s nothing embarrassing hanging out in plain view. Not that I mind embarrassing my brother, but I’ll give him a break today.”

Cas followed him up a set of stairs and into the upstairs apartment.

He’d spent so much time with Dean in his new home, but this was the first time he’d been in Dean’s space. Cas wasn’t afraid to admit he was curious. A person’s home said a lot about them. It was part of the reason he wanted to take a little time in remodeling Great Aunt Hester’s home; he wanted to make sure that what it said about him was what he wanted it to say.

Dean’s apartment was small and a bit untidy, but not dirty. There was a difference between untidiness and uncleanliness. Besides, a spotless home was uncomfortable. Cas should know; he’d grown up in one, and then moved to another equally sterile and superficially perfect environment. The couch was upholstered in cinnamon brown upholstery, a flat screen TV took up substantial space across from it. Shelves beside the TV held a collection of DVDs and old-fashioned albums. A turntable to play the albums was near the television, along with a cassette deck.

Another shelf on a different wall held books and a few framed photographs. Cas was drawn in that direction.

“Go ahead and look around,” Dean said. “I’m just going to give the bathroom a quick once-over before Sam gets here.”

“Is there anything I can do?” He scanned over the collection of books. Vonnegut, as Dean had mentioned. And the entire collected works — six of them — of one Steven Emmanuel. Cas hesitated, then pulled out the first one. This was his first published work of fiction, and as such still could make his heart race. The paperback looked well used, the corners worn and dog-eared. The covers and spine were creased, and some of the pages were soiled.

Cas smiled in pleasure. Dean hadn’t been exaggerating that day that he said he liked these books. This hadn’t been read once and stuffed back on a shelf. It had the appearance of an old friend, well-loved.

He blinked back the sudden, unexpected prickle of tears. What was that about? He was getting emotional over the fact that a man he considered a friend clearly loved the stories he loved to tell, without knowing the two of them were connected? Well. If that wasn’t a little embarrassing.

He set the book back again and looked at the photographs. There were some older ones, a small boy with his mother — Dean and his mom? Another with the same boy and an infant, and their parents. Yes. Definitely Dean, and the baby must be Sam. A third photo, of Sam in a cap and gown, grinning and holding his diploma triumphantly. And one of a baby too small to hold her head up, awkwardly propped up on tiny fists and blinking owlishly at the camera, a pink bow clipped to fine pale hair.

Cas frowned. Something was off. He stood again and turned to survey the apartment. The small apartment. The small apartment that was completely bereft of baby gear – or, for that matter, any evidence of a cohabitant.

It didn’t make sense. Was Dean not together with the woman? They’d looked like they were together, but he supposed that appearances could be deceiving. Even if they weren’t together, it didn’t mean that they couldn’t have an amicable relationship for the sake of the child.

And yet the pieces weren’t fitting together quite right. Something was definitely off.

There was a knock at the door, and Dean emerged from the bathroom to get it. “That’ll be Sam.”

He moved past to open the door.

“Hey Dean. Cas. We come bearing pizza.” He gestured with the boxes in his hands.

“Awesome — as long as you didn’t get just that veggie pineapple shit.”

“He got some of that veggie pineapple shit, but not just the veggie pineapple shit,” a woman said from the other side of Dean’s younger brother.

It was the blond from his first trip to Caroline, the one Cas had seen with Dean and the baby. The baby that was in the carrier she held with one hand.

“Hey, there’s my princess.” Dean moved to take the girl from the woman, bouncing her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Hey Cas. Don’t think you’ve met Sam’s wife Jess yet, have you? And my little peanut Mariel?”

A shiver ran down the back of Cas’ neck, and a chill lodged in his stomach. Sam’s wife. _Sam’s_ wife. And most likely, Sam’s baby. Dean’s niece. Not Dean’s baby, not Dean’s wife. Dean wasn’t married.

Dean wasn’t safely unavailable.

Unless he was straight. In which case he was still unavailable, but in a different way.

Cas didn’t even want him to be available. Did he? No. He didn’t. He couldn’t, he didn’t want to, there was too much risk. Too much pain. He couldn’t do that again. He wouldn’t do that again.

“No,” he managed to choke out the word, hoping against hope that he sounded properly enchanted to meet them. His heart was pounding so hard and fast that he was having problems hearing himself think, and his face felt hot.

He missed Dean and Sam exchanging looks.

He squared his shoulders and forced himself to raise his chin and look Jess in the eye. “Hello, Jess. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your daughter is beautiful.”

She smiled. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Dean has been telling us a lot about the work he’s doing at your home. How are you liking Caroline?”

It was difficult to talk when his throat felt tight and he knew his face was flushed. But something about her was kind without being pitying, open and warm. So he focused on her and somehow found the words. “I greatly prefer it to Chicago. The house is everything I never knew I wanted, and will be more so in time, after the renovations are complete. Whenever that will be.”

“Depends on how much you want to do,” Dean said. “And how fast you want to do it.”

“Yes. I would like the kitchen completed as quickly as is reasonable, though I recognize that first I need to make decisions as to what I wish to have done. I have been putting together some ideas. I will be ready to discuss them and get your thoughts within the next couple days.”

“Sam and I have been thinking about remodeling our kitchen. It’s not bad, though, so we’re in no hurry. It’s just not really to my taste. Kind of dated. I’m not a big kitchen type of a girl anyhow, so it’s not a priority. And now we’ve got Mariel, and maybe in a couple years there will be another baby, so.” She shrugged, and laughed. “Well. Pizza? Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“I’ll put it on the counter,” Sam said, doing so and opening the boxes. “And I’ll get some plates and beer, since you’re busy.” Sam moved about the space with the easy familiarity of someone who had been there often.

“Thanks,” Dean said absently, still focused on properly greeting the baby.

Cas was focused on breathing properly. He still felt all tingly, and dizzy with how fast his world view had shifted. He rather thought that if he moved too fast he might just fall entirely. At least they probably thought it was because of his aversion to dealing with new people, so he was safe enough that way.

Dean, Sam and Jess chatted amiably about the baby and various everyday types of things as they ate pizza and got the table set up for poker, giving Cas the time and space he needed to get his feet under himself again without being obvious about it. He deeply appreciated it.

“What are we playing for?” Sam asked, once they were settled around the table and the chips were out.

“Just the chips this time,” Dean declared.

“Don’t want me to take all your money again, hm?” Jess said with a sly smile.

Dean dealt everyone in.

Playing poker with the Winchesters was an experience unlike anything Cas had ever experienced before. When he’d played before it was a serious game. But Dean, Sam, and Jess were constantly teasing each other, egging each other on, giving each other grief. Jessica gave as good as anyone, poking at both brothers with the accuracy of long acquaintance and genuine love. Cas could maybe picture this sort of a game with Gabriel, but Michael and Luc? Never. Any sort of competition and they were deadly serious.

When Cas won his third hand in a row, Dean fastened his green-eyed gaze on him. “You have the best poker face ever. Your expression doesn’t change at all whether you’ve got crap or a great hand.”

“The fact that we are playing simply for plastic chips makes that easier. If I lose, what am I really out?”

“Bragging rights!”

“Unimportant to me.”

“So you’re saying you need actual stakes to break a sweat. Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

The baby started fussing then, and Dean was the one to push away from the table and pluck her out of the car seat basket thing Sam and Jess had carried her in. “What’s the matter, Peanut? Cas winning make you upset, because he bested your favorite uncle?”

“You’re her only uncle,” Sam helpfully pointed out, then turned to Cas. “Jess has a sister, but she’s not married, and there aren’t any brothers. So Mariel only has Dean as an uncle. Tracy still lives out in California, so she only met the baby when we went out there for Christmas.”

“Mariel is a lovely name.”

Jess smiled at him. “Thank you. It’s for their mom — Mary — and Ellen Harvelle.”

“The woman at the Roadhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Told you she was important to us,” Dean reminded him. “So yeah. Named after our two moms. Big shoes to fill, hm, Peanut? But don’t you worry about that. You are who you are, and that’s more than enough.” He bounced her against his shoulder, patting her back and brushing a kiss against her head.

“She could use cousins,” Jess poked at him. “You’re going to make an awesome dad someday.”

Dean flushed, glanced quickly at Cas as though embarrassed, then away again. “Yeah, kind of need a partner first,” he mumbled. “Someone that wants kids. With me.”

Cas’ chest suddenly felt so tight he could hardly breathe. He curled his fingers under the table, digging his nails into his palm. He heard a strange sort of squeaking sound, and then realized to his mortification that he’d made it.

“Cas?”

He shook his head quickly. “Sorry,” he said. “I… sorry. That’s just…” He took a deep breath. “My apologies. That comment simply struck a little close to home for me. It brought back some difficult memories.”

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” Jess said, reaching to rub his shoulder softly. “I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have started teasing Dean about it again. It’s not really a fair thing to tease about, anyhow, not when I know he actually does want children.”

“My partner didn’t,” Cas said. “I… it was one of the final things before everything truly fell apart. It had never been a healthy relationship, I know now, but at the time I hadn’t realized just how unhealthy it was. Or perhaps I knew, but I wanted so desperately to believe that everything was fine that I discounted everything that wasn’t.” He’d never told anyone that before. He cleared his throat. “Anyhow. I had been looking into adoption, or surrogacy. When Bartholomew found out he was furious.”

“Cas,” Dean said, the empathy on his face too much. Cas closed his eyes and shook his head again.

“It’s all right,” he said, choked. “It was a long time ago. Just… what you said… made me remember.”

“Would you like to hold her?” He asked. “She’s a cuddle monkey.” Dean didn’t wait for an answer, just walked over and deposited Mariel into his arms.

Cas reflexively wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest. The painful swelling emotions soothed and softened as her warmth and baby powder scent took hold. She made a little snuffling sound and looked up at him, blinking twice with her big blue eyes, studying him for a long moment. Then she apparently decided she was okay with this, and brought her fist up to her mouth as she relaxed against him.

He closed his eyes as he lowered his head against her. If he couldn’t entirely halt the undesired tears, he could at least hide them.

“She likes you,” Sam’s quiet voice drifted over the sound of the baby’s breathing. “She doesn’t always relax that way with people she doesn’t know.”

He managed to look up then, knowing his eyes were watery but hoping it would pass unnoticed. “She’s beautiful.”

Sam smiled. “She is, isn’t she.”

“I think we’re about done with the game,” Dean said. “You go sit on the couch with her while we get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Sitting with the baby as she fell asleep in his arms was a sort of peace he hadn’t known for … well. Years? Decades? Since he was somewhere around Mariel’s age himself? That was likely an exaggeration, but it had certainly been a very long time. He was grateful that the Winchesters trusted him enough to let him keep her so long, even if they were right there to keep an eye on him.

He had nearly dozed off himself by the time Jess touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Sorry, Cas… but we need to take the munchkin home now. It’s getting late.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He rearranged her to safely pass her back to her mother, his arms immediately feeling empty when she was gone. He touched her tiny hand one last time, his finger lingering, before he pulled his hands back and pushed them into his pockets.

She smiled. “You’re welcome to come by anytime and see her. It was lovely to finally meet you. Don’t be a stranger.”

Once again his throat felt tight. He didn’t trust the words, so he just nodded.

 * * *

When Sam, Jess, and Mariel were gone, Dean’s apartment suddenly felt quiet and empty.

Dean sighed. “I always miss her the second she’s gone. Sam and Jess too, I suppose, but mostly Mariel.” He smiled crookedly at Cas, glad that he at least was still here.

“She is quite lovely,” Cas said. “You are fortunate to have her in your life.”

“Yeah, I am.”

There was something a little off about Cas’ tone, hollow and slightly distant. That revelation earlier about Cas’ life before he moved to Caroline was clearly huge, and also just the tip of the iceberg. There was so much that Dean didn’t know about his friend.

Things he wanted to know. This bit, though, left Dean breathless. _When Bartholomew found out, he was furious._

Bartholomew. He. Furious. Cas had been in a relationship with another man, a serious enough relationship that he had been exploring options for how the two of them could become parents. Had that been the reason for the end of the relationship? Just how furious was he, and what did this Bartholomew dude do when he was furious?

Did that have anything to do with Cas’ general skittishness around anyone he didn’t know well, and his reluctance to meet new people at all?

Cas tipped his head to the side, and Dean realized he’d been standing there lost in thought a little too long. “Sorry. Just… thinking, I guess. You want to watch a movie or something?” One thing he knew, he didn’t want to bring Cas home yet. The guy was clearly still emotionally raw, and Dean wasn’t about to leave him alone in that state.

He wouldn’t poke or prod, either, but just having company, having someone else near, undemanding and accepting, was important. Dean thought, hoped, that they were close enough by now that he could do that for him.

“All right.”

“Okay, why don’t you pick something, and I’ll make popcorn and grab us a couple beers.” He went into the kitchen, pulled out a pack of popcorn and tossed it in the microwave.

He came back with the popcorn poured into a large red plastic bowl and handed Cas a beer. “What’d you choose?”

Cas held out the cover to the DVD to show him. “Star Wars.”

“Oh, dude, excellent choice,” Dean said. “One of my favorites.”

“Judging by the quantity of science fiction and action movies in your collection, I am not surprised.”

“Hey, it’s a classic. And Han Solo is awesome.”

“I’ve always been rather fond of Luke myself.”

“Luke is a whiny wimp in this movie.”

Cas’ gaze narrowed. “Luke has been sheltered and confined to a narrow world, and dreams of a different life. It is entirely understandable and justifiable that when one of his few freedoms is curtailed that he should be disappointed. Perhaps the tone of voice he uses when expressing his disappointment at not being allowed to go to Tosche Station to spend time with his friends is indeed slightly whining, but he is frustrated and feels trapped.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that. But Han is still cool.”

“He starts the movie as a selfish cocky ass motivated only by greed.”

“Starts, sure, but that’s just because he’s been burned too many times and learned that the only person he can really count on is Chewie.”

“It never says that in the movie.”

“Doesn’t make it any less plausible.”

Cas sat down and handed Dean the remote. “Start the movie. We will discuss your interpretation after it’s over.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean hid a grin. He kind of liked bossy Cas.

He did love this movie, but he’d seen it so many times he could replay the entire film scene by scene in his head. His thoughts wandered back to Cas.

The revelation that Cas had been with another man made Dean’s pulse race. It meant he had a chance. Dean cared more about the person than about what equipment they’d been born with. He could work with whatever. Sex was sex, and it was fun no matter who he was playing with. He’d been with more women than men in his life, mostly because it was easier.

Cas, though. He was hot, no question about that. Those blue, blue eyes were stunningly beautiful, and when Dean could coax that smile out of him he felt like he’d won the lottery. If Cas was interested, Dean would be all over that.

But Cas needed a friend. Coming on to him might very well feel like betrayal, and all when he was finally starting to relax around Dean.

There was no way in hell that Dean was going to do that to him. He cared far too much about the guy for that. The whole friends with benefits thing could work, sometimes. But not with Cas. Cas was too emotionally fragile for that.

 _What if it could be more, though?_ Dean’s subconscious whispered to him. _What if this could be it? The end game?_ He looked over at Cas, sitting forward on the couch as he watched the movie, fully absorbed in it.

Dean swallowed hard, shifted in his seat. Those sorts of thoughts were uncomfortable. Scary as all hell. Usually he ran screaming in the other direction from even the mention, but he was getting older. Especially after Mariel’s arrival, seeing Sammy so happy with Jessica and their daughter, it made him feel… restless. Empty. That traitorous whisper. Is this all there is? Is there nothing more?

When the movie was over Cas turned to look at him, his eyes soft and more relaxed than when the movie had started. Dean was glad that he’d managed to come down from wherever that conversation earlier had taken him. He’d be okay now, he thought.

It was tempting to offer his couch; he didn’t really want to take him home. Didn’t want to be away from him.

Instead, Dean turned off the TV while the end credits were playing. “Want anything more before we call it and I take you home? Something to munch on or drink?”

Cas exhaled on a long breath, then shook his head. “No, I’m good.” He stood up, tugged his shirt down into place and retrieved his trench coat. “Thank you for this evening, Dean. I enjoyed myself.”

“Yeah, well, we should do it again. Make it a thing. Doesn’t always have to be poker, though it could be.” He pulled on an extra flannel, deliberately not looking at Cas. He waited on tenterhooks for Cas’ response. He threw it out there casually, but he knew that committing to a standing social engagement would be a big deal for him.

There was a pause before he replied, but then… “Perhaps,” he said, softly.

Dean counted that as a win.

 * * *

Cas stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, flat on his mattress. He’d mostly calmed down after the movie and then the ride home, but his skin still felt extra sensitive, and there was a vague sick feeling high in his stomach.

Just because Jessica and Mariel were not Dean’s did not mean that Dean was gay, or even bi. Just because he hadn't specified ‘wife’ when talking about having children of his own did not mean he wasn't assuming that configuration. It was most common, after all, and for a reason.

Even if Dean was open to a same sex relationship, it didn't matter. Cas himself had sworn off of relationships.

And yet, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, the thought of Dean and relationships might make him anxious and nervous, but he wasn't in a full-blown panic. He was lying flat on his mattress, not curled up tight in the fetal position around his pillow or locked in the turret room rocking on the floor with his back blocking the door. He didn't know what to make of that.

One thing he did know, he wasn't about to get to sleep any time soon. With a sigh, he levered himself up to a seated position and swung his legs off the side of the bed. Might as well get some work done, if he was this alert.

Hopefully he could use his writing to distract himself from all of these disturbing thoughts. The non-fiction projects, he decided. The fiction projects required a different kind of thought, and also being open to the emotions of his characters. For distraction purposes, comparing and contrasting the symbolism inherent in ancient cultures around the world was far more effective.


	11. Chapter 11

Today was an odd job day, a little of this, a little of that, minor repairs and things that took only a couple hours before Dean could move on to the next one. Usually he liked to schedule those first thing in the morning, then spend the rest of his day at a larger job, but sometimes enough of them came in at once that he took a whole day to knock them out.

The first job today was at the courthouse, patching a section of plaster wall that was cracked so badly that it was starting to chip — and was in a spot where the patrons tended to pick at it. Why people did things like that Dean couldn’t figure out. Just because something was already damaged didn’t mean you had to work at making it worse.

Okay. Maybe he did understand. It was similar to the process of poking at a bruise or a sore spot in your mouth.

This particular patch was right outside the County Records office, which is how he happened to be in the perfect spot to overhear things he probably shouldn’t have.

Hard to miss the man who came striding into the courthouse as though he owned the place, dressed in a fancy suit that was incredibly out of place. He went to the service window, hit the bell too many times.

That was always guaranteed to get someone off to a good start. Dean grinned to himself as he noticed Sarah deliberately slowing her pace.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Yes. I am Zachariah Adler, JD. I require access to all records related to one…” He checked his notes. “Hester Albright, and the husband who predeceased her.”

That grabbed Dean’s attention. Sam should know about this. Dean slid his phone out.

_Sam. Some dick lawyer in a fancy suit is at the records office asking about Hester Albright_

There wasn’t an immediate reply. Dean wasn’t exactly surprised, though he was disappointed.

“Copies of public records and notices are available at the library,” Sarah said politely. “You can look there.”

“Records are also available at the County Records Office, or they should be,” Adler countered. “Pull them for me.”

Oh man, oh man. That sort of attitude wasn’t going to get anyone very far in Caroline, Kansas, Dean thought. Sarah’s posture straightened.

“Unless you have a valid court order and have filled out a request and paid the applicable fees, you’ll have to use the library records.”

Dean didn’t see it clearly, but Adler made a motion with his hand on the counter.

“Sir. Are you attempting bribery of a court official?”

“What?” Adler looked around, but failed to turn enough to see Dean. “Never!”

“If these are in payment of the applicable fees, you’ll have to fill out the form first, then leave it and the payment at the cash office. Records requests usually take six to eight weeks to fulfill.”

Dean’s phone vibrated.

_Is he still there?_

_Yeah. Said his name is Zachary Alder, Adler, something like that. Sarah’s giving him the bureaucratic runaround._

_Thanks, I’ll call the County Clerk_

 * * *

That evening, Dean went over to Sam’s house. It was a small house, and still needed additional work.

Jess was out mowing the front yard when he got there—now that the weather had aggressively welcomed spring, the grass was aggressively growing, too. She waved but finished the last strip of grass before turning off the motor. “Hey Dean,” she greeted him.

“Hey,” he returned the greeting, pretending to go in for a hug before wrinkling his nose. “Ew. You’re all gross and sweaty.”

She snorted and punched him in the arm. “As if you don’t live for gross and sweaty. Sam’s inside with Mariel, making dinner.”

“Awesome. As long as he’s not making eggplant or something like that.”

“Guess you’ll have to go in and check it out.”

He was not, in fact, making eggplant, thank God. As many times as Sam claimed it was really good, Dean had yet to be converted. Instead, dinner was a simple baked chicken breast with some sort of yellow curry sauce — the sort of thing Dean felt obligated to object to just because it wasn’t red meat, but actually liked.

“Hey there Peanut,” he greeted Mariel, scooping her up and swinging her around. She giggled. Damn, but there were few things that sounded as wonderful as a baby giggling.

“Hi Dean. Almost done here, if you want to put out the glasses. Jess is probably going to want a quick shower. I don’t hear the mower any more. Is she done?”

“Looked like it, if she started in the back.”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Did you find out anything about this Adler dude?”

Sam finished checking the temperature of the chicken, putting it back into the oven to bake a little longer. “Yes. He’s a lawyer and a registered private investigator out of Chicago, and has done some work for the Novak Corporation in the past. That’s not openly advertised or anything. I had to call a friend from school who’s working in Chicago.”

“So what do you think he’s looking for?”

“Checking out public records around the Albright estate. Probably looking to get an estimate of how much it’s worth to see if it’s worth their while to challenge the will.”

“And take the house away from Cas?” Dean felt a burning anger at the very idea. “Why would they even want it? I mean… it’s a great house, you know I love it, but to someone like Cas’ brothers? Why would they want a slightly shabby old Victorian farmhouse that has nothing to recommend it other than an authentic charm, and a nice property?”

“My best guess is just because they don’t like being denied, even when they’re not particularly interested in what’s being denied.”

Dean glared at his brother.

“Hey, I’m just speculating. Based on what I’ve learned about Michael and Lucifer Novak.”

“You’ve looked into them?”

“Mm, yes. While Mrs. Albright was still drafting the will, actually, but again now that Cas is involved. She warned me that the will would have to be tightly written, because she expected her older nephews to challenge her decision to leave everything to the youngest.”

“Do you think they have any grounds?”

“No, I don’t.” Sam’s confidence was comforting. “Mrs. Albright anticipated a lot of possibilities, and made sure that she had them covered. If they go so far as to bring a challenge to court, they won’t win.”

“What if they try and manipulate the legal system? Buy off the judge, something like that?”

“It would be difficult to get it moved out of Caroline. It’s estate law, and Kansas has clear jurisdiction. All of the property is in Kansas, and the will was executed in Kansas. I guess I’m not putting it past them to try and have it moved, but I’ve already put things in place to counter the most likely arguments. If they try to file a challenge, it’ll go in front of Judge Turner. Besides, I have something in my back pocket that they won’t be expecting.”

Dean looked up at that, curious. “What’s that?”

Sam grinned a particularly feral grin, one that Dean decided then and there he had no interest in being on the wrong side of. “Did I ever tell you about the call I got from one Gabriel Novak about a week ago?”

  * * *

Dean went to Cas’ place on Sunday to help with prepping the garden, now that the weather was getting steadily nicer. It was going to be a couple weeks before he’d be able to start the addition, with other clients and his woodworking commissions to catch up with, but he could still allow himself to hang out with his friend on the weekends.

He hadn’t done a whole lot of landscaping work, but he found it wasn’t really all that different from the kinds of handyman work he did on a daily basis. It all came down to sweat equity. He was happy to let Cas be the decision-maker, telling Dean where to dig up the grass and how to mix the different piles of stuff he’d gotten delivered from the garden supply store and where to put the soil mixture. Cas worked just as hard, wielding his spade and shovel and rake awkwardly at first, but quickly figuring out the knack of it.

Once in a while Dean would take a drink of water and surreptitiously watch Cas, admiring the way the muscles of his back moved under his dirt-smudged shirt, the way his thighs bulged when he squatted down to clean rocks and weeds from the newly defined flower beds, and the way his hair got even wilder and more mussed when he impatiently pushed it back from his brow.

When the sun reached its zenith Dean chunked his shovel deep into the earth and leaned back. “Time for lunch,” he declared, not leaving Cas any room for argument. “This is hot and thirsty work.”

“At least it is just spring,” Cas observed. “I would imagine that being farther south than Chicago, the summers here get hotter.”

“Don’t know about that. I haven’t been to Chicago. But it gets plenty hot here, sometimes. Storms can get pretty intense, too.”

“Mm. I look forward to witnessing a thunderstorm here, the wind and fury of nature. Though I would prefer if it did not cause an excessive amount of damage to life and property.”

“Yeah. We've been lucky, haven’t had any tornadoes rip through here, at least not any of the big ones. I remember once when I was about ten or twelve, a small one passed through about five miles south of here. One of my buddies had an older brother who had his driver’s

 license, so we piled into the car to go take a look. There was an old barn whose roof had been lifted clean off the building and set down again half a football field away, almost undamaged. And then there were trees that had been ripped apart into kindling. Sammy had nightmares for a month after that. I probably shouldn’t have let him come with, but wasn’t like I had anyone to leave him with, really. Not when I wasn’t supposed to be going myself.”

“You had a lot of freedom as a child?”

Dean snorted. “Happens when your dad takes off for weeks at a time, leaving you on your own. Ellen and Bobby looked out for us once they realized what was going on, but that hadn’t happened yet at that point.”

Cas looked at him then, studying him, evaluating. Dean threw him back a challenging look, not wanting any pity. But pity wasn’t what he saw in Cas’ blue eyes… just some sort of consideration, and curiosity. He didn’t ask any of the questions Dean expected. Instead he set down the tools he’d been working with and wiped his hands on his jeans, nodded once in acknowledgment.

“I have sandwiches prepared for lunch,” he said. “Roast beef and cheddar on sourdough bread. There are onions and lettuce and various condiments for you to apply as you prefer.”

“Awesome.” He grinned. After rinsing the worst of the garden dirt off with the garden hose, he followed Cas inside the kitchen.

While Cas pulled the plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade out of the refrigerator, Dean found a couple plates and set the table. “Another couple weeks and it’ll be warm enough to start planting things.”

“I am looking forward to it. I have some flats in the spare bedroom where I am starting some seedlings. That room gets good sun for the purpose. I’ve never tried to start seeds before. Hopefully my efforts will be successful.”

“Didn’t live in a house, before?” Dean watched as Cas poured them each a tall glass of the lemonade, then sat down across from him at the small table.

Cas’ jaw tightened briefly, but then he shook his head. “No. Well, as a child I lived in a large house, but the landscaping was all professionally maintained and any interference was not tolerated. Later I lived in a modern high rise.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t have pictured you in a high rise. You don’t seem like the glass and steel type, especially not with how you’ve taken to this place.”

“The condo was chosen by Bartholomew.”

“So what, he just totally disregarded your input on where you were going to live?” Dean was indignant at the very idea. If you were partners with someone, you were partners. You made decisions based on what made both of you happy, not just unilaterally doing what you wanted.

Cas turned his lemonade glass in his hands, remarkably fascinated by watching the bits of lemonade pulp swirl around. He glanced up at Dean through his lashes, then back down to the lemonade, and caught his lower lip between his teeth.

Cas had really amazing lips, even if they were a bit chapped. They were pink and full and… and stop it, Winchester.

“Bartholomew… we met when I was in my first year of college. That time was full of so many changes for me, so many freedoms. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I had never really been on my own before. I’d never really had friends; I’ve always been considered… unusual, in a way that adolescents do not treat kindly.”

“You were bullied as a kid.”

“Ostracized more than outright bullied, but yes. I was not invited into the social groups that formed during my secondary education. When I got to college, I hoped that would change, that since the people there didn’t know me, they might form different opinions. Bartholomew introduced himself to me on my second night on campus. He was friendly and interested in me, in what I had to say. He invited me along to social engagements and didn’t take no for an answer. I… was flattered. He was handsome and able to take command of any group of people easily. I was just beginning to come to terms with my own sexuality, and he facilitated my discovery. By the end of the first year we were a couple. I thought… I thought that we would be together always. I thought that he loved me, and love is not something I have had so much of that I was able to look at the situation critically.”

Dean could just see it, Cas with his endearing awkwardness, his sex hair and brilliant blue eyes, his sharp intelligence but socially inept ways, his insecurity. He dreaded where the story was going next, but hoped Cas would continue. He didn’t say anything, but simply held Cas’ gaze, silently communicating his attention.

Cas swallowed. “Some things are not so obvious when you are in the middle of them as they are observed from outside. Objectivity is hard to come by when you are blinded by the desire to be … important to someone. In retrospect I still don’t know exactly how it happened. Bartholomew was, I suppose, a master manipulator. He was playing a long game, and had the patience to move slowly enough that each new step was small enough that there was never a single moment that was so shocking that I rebelled. My family… well. Gabriel wasn’t around then. He was in the midst of his own rebellion and wanted nothing to do with Michael and Luc, so I think he was somewhere in Asia at the time. He still feels somewhat responsible, feels that he would have recognized what was happening in time to prevent…” His voice trailed away, and he shook his shoulders as though literally shaking off unpleasant memories.

“In any event. Bartholomew isolated me from what few support networks I had in place, slowly but surely. It wasn’t difficult. Michael and Luc have never really been attuned to the needs of anyone but themselves, and Bartholomew catered to their egos to the point where they felt if I had to be gay, at least I had the good taste to partner with someone as obviously upper crust as he. Gabriel was out of the country, and I had few friends. Any efforts I might have made to obtain some were circumvented, until Bartholomew was the whole of my social life. We moved into the condominium before I finished my degree, and once I had, there was even less reason to leave home.”

Dean shook his head, his heart aching at what Cas had been through. He knew Cas was leaving a lot out, keeping the details unsaid, but shit, even this much was awful. “How’d you get out of it?” He asked softly.

Cas looked up. “I wish I could say that I simply woke up one day and realized that it wasn’t a healthy relationship. It wasn’t that simple. The catalyst was his anger when he discovered I had been researching the means to start a family. He had no interest whatsoever in having children, and the way he communicated that to me was vicious and hurtful. Enraged. It became physical. I couldn’t stay in the condo after he stormed out, so I packed a small bag and left. I didn’t intend for it to be forever, just long enough for him to calm down. But while I was out Gabriel happened to call, and once he realized what was going on, he got on the next plane back to the States. Long story a little less long, he stood up for me and refused to let Bartholomew see me alone, and had him investigated. It turned out he had been stealing large amounts of money from me, from our family. That information turned Michael and Luc against him. He avoided prison time; I think my brothers wanted to keep the ‘scandal’ quiet.”

“Oh man.” He shook his head again. “That sucks.” He didn’t want to offer any platitudes, no assertions that everything was better now, because on the whole it was pretty obvious that everything wasn’t better, though from his point of view it looked like they were improving. “I don’t really even know what to say,” he admitted. “I can’t imagine.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I’m not even entirely certain why I’ve told you this.”

“I’m glad you did,” Dean said, reaching across the table to touch Cas’ hand, lightly, briefly. “It means a lot.” He wanted to close his hand over the other man’s, twine his fingers and squeeze, not just brush his fingertips across Cas’ knuckles, but that was too much. He knew that.

Or he thought he’d known that.

Cas turned his hand under Dean’s so that he palm was up, and circled Dean’s wrist with his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the knob of Dean’s wrist briefly before releasing it and clasping his hands self-consciously in his lap.

Then he stood up. “Would you like more lemonade?” Without waiting for an answer, he got up to retrieve the pitcher and refilled both of their glasses, though neither had consumed more than a third.

“Thanks.”

The conversation after that awkwardly turned lighter, discussions of the specific flowers Cas was planting, the merits of a small vegetable garden in addition to the flowers, and a decision that the vegetables could wait until next year, after the flowers were established. Cas still had intentions of planting some herbs. He’d long wanted to be able to cut his own herbs for cooking, desiring to see just how much better they were when harvested directly from his own garden. He had to make accommodations for the kitchen remodeling. It made no sense to plant the vegetable garden when the location Cas was considering would get thoroughly trampled in the process of building out the addition he wanted.


	12. Chapter 12

Alone in his apartment that evening, Dean sat on the couch with the TV playing a rerun of Dr. Sexy. His stomach was vaguely unsettled, though he knew it had nothing to do with anything he’d eaten. It wasn’t illness related, either.

No. “Dammit, Cas,” he growled to himself.

Cas was amazing, beautiful, smart enough to give Sammy a run for his money and maybe even come out ahead. He had a dry wit and a way with words that constantly challenged Dean.

Once in a while Dean caught a look in Cas’ eye that took his breath away, so filled with aching and suppressed longing that he wanted only to wrap him up in his arms and shelter him from everything that had ever and would ever even think of hurting him. When he thought of that Bartholomew asshole, and how he’d absolutely wrecked Cas, a visceral rage boiled up inside him. He punched one of the fancy pillows Jess had given him, something she’d painted when she was experimenting with textile arts.

What was he going to do about this?

He wanted Cas. There. He’d admitted it to himself. He didn’t just want him physically, though of course there was that. He wanted him in his life. Being with him just made Dean happy. But more than he wanted Cas for himself, he wanted Cas to be happy here in Caroline. How was he going to make that happen? He wasn’t a therapist. He couldn’t pretend like he knew how to fix everything for Cas. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. So wrong word choice. He couldn’t fix anything for Cas -- but he could be there and help him to repair himself. The cracks would always be there, but they could be mended. Dean was a carpenter. He knew all about supports and braces and constructing solid structures to shore up weaker spots.

He’d always been able to think better when his hands were busy. With a determined nod, he turned off the television and headed down to his shop. He already knew what sort of cabinets were going into Cas’ new kitchen. Cas had shown him some pictures he’d found online of kitchens he liked, expressing in particular an admiration for the dark rich tones of stained cherry. The cabinets needed to be special, not just the same cabinets you could find anywhere — and he knew just what to do.

The project would take some time, but that was okay. It would take time to build Cas’ trust and confidence in the community of Caroline -- and in Dean himself.


	13. Chapter 13

One day, around noon, Dean knocked on the doorframe to Cas’ office. “Hey,” he said with a grin.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked… well. Clearly he’d been working hard. His tee shirt had a long line of perspiration down the back. His brow was shiny, his hairline damp, and his freckles were more prominent than usual. Cas had to swallow. Then he noticed that Dean’s jeans were riding low, exposing a sliver of skin when he moved, and Cas’ mouth went from too moist to too dry in an instant.

“I’m not going to sit down – I’m a sweaty smelly mess and I’d ruin the chair. But did you see the news?”

“What news would that be?” Concentrating on Dean’s words was difficult. Sweaty smelly mess… yes, Dean was definitely _ripe_ , and how was that still, somehow, appealing?

Dean’s smile was bright and happy, his green eyes shining with excitement. “Steven Emmanuel’s next book has a release date. Not until September, but still. I’m really excited. It’s supposed to be the first book in a new trilogy, following Alek’s story.”

“Oh.” Cas felt a flush rising from the back of his neck to his ears.

“I figured you’d be interested, since you’ve got his books too.”

“Ah. Yes, yes, of course.” Well shit. How was he supposed to negotiate this one?

“Alek has always been my favorite character. I’m looking forward to a whole trilogy focused on him. He’s so interesting. Quiet, but so much going on in his head, you can tell, even if Emmanuel hasn’t really explored his thoughts, with the way he uses third person limited.”

The fondness in Dean’s voice made Cas’ chest feel warm. Of all his characters, in many ways Alek was closest to himself. For Dean to claim him as his favorite character? He didn’t quite know what to do with that. It probably meant nothing. Alek was, after all, a fictional character. Feelings didn’t necessarily translate from fiction to reality.

And yet… and yet.

“Hopefully Alek’s story is one worth reading,” he finally said.

“Are you kidding, man? Of course it will be! September 15th. Mark your calendar. Better yet, pre-order. I already did.”

“You did?”

“Hell yeah, man. The moment I saw it was out there. Might take the day off work, curl up in my recliner and read it as soon as it comes. Turn off the phone, close the blinds, pretend like I’m not home. And then I’ll be chomping at the bit until you’re finished too and we can talk about it.”

Cas smiled. “Perhaps.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Excuse me?”

“A favorite. A favorite book of the six he’s published so far.”

Cas’ smile faded into thoughtfulness. How was he to answer that question? How could he choose a favorite? They were like his children, and you couldn't choose a favorite child. Or rather, you shouldn’t. People could and did.

Just ask his mother.

“That’s a difficult question to answer. There are things in each that I greatly appreciate, sometimes things that I didn’t even recognize until longer after my first pass through them.”

“Fair enough, and I’d have to agree. On first reading they seem like a straight-forward adventure, but then there are themes and shit that just sneak up on you. I like that they don’t shy away from difficult stuff, but that they’re still hopeful. There’s enough depressing crap going on in the world. I like to have some go-to fiction for when I want to feel good about something.”

“Emmanuel’s works do that for you?”

“Hell yeah. Sometimes it feels like he’s writing them just for me.”

Cas stole a glance at his laptop, where Book Two of that Alek trilogy was well underway, and pondered the irony.


	14. Chapter 14

“Were you serious about there being suitable vehicles available at Singer Salvage?”

Dean blinked, stared at the phone before bringing it back to his ear. “Hi, Cas, nice to hear from you. How are you doing?”

“Ah. Yes. Proper salutations. Hello, Dean. Good morning. Were you serious about there being suitable vehicles available at Singer Salvage?”

Dean laughed, feeling suddenly lighter and warmer just because Cas had called. He stepped away from his work table, glad enough to take a break from sanding the table he was working on for Garth Fitzgerald’s waiting room. Garth was a weird little dude, but he was a good dentist, especially with the kids, and he’d ordered a few pieces here and there over the years. “Yeah, I was serious. Ready to take the plunge?”

“Yes. Not having transportation is starting to be more of an inconvenience.”

If Cas was feeling comfortable enough in Caroline now that he was considering ways to branch out from the familiarity of his home, Dean would do everything in his power to enable that.

“How’s this afternoon sound? I have to finish up this project, but I can swing by and pick you up around three or four and we can scope out what he’s got. Some of them take too much work to pull right away, but he’s always got some that are either working or close enough that we could get it up and running within a day or two.”

“I trust that by ‘we’ you mean yourself and Mr. Singer.”

“No, dude, I mean me and you. It’ll be just like with the bookcases.”

Cas made a huffing sound on the other end of the line. “A vehicle is slightly more complex than a bookcase, and if it is misaligned the consequences are more serious.”

“I’ll give you that, but you gotta trust me. I wouldn’t let you misalign things. I know what I’m looking for.”

There was a pause. “Three or four o’clock will be satisfactory. I will be ready.”

“Awesome. We’ll find you a great set of wheels. Something with personality. It’ll be great.”

 * * *

Dean pulled up at Singer Salvage and got out of his truck, carefully avoiding the puddles. There had been rain that morning, too much for it to be easily absorbed, especially in the packed earth outside Bobby’s place. Cas got out more slowly, tilting his head to the side as he looked around. “This does not look like a safe environment for children,” he commented.

Dean laughed at that, pleased that Cas had remembered his comment about spending a lot of time here when he was young. “Maybe not, but damn was it fun. So many interesting things. Bobby was better at keeping an eye on us than Dad ever was, so there’s that. Come on.” He headed to the house, a two-story farm-style house beside the yard. The place was much simpler in design than Cas’ house. No fancy trim work; simple clapboard siding and a utilitarian porch. It was, however, in excellent repair. Dean made sure of that.

Bobby came out to stand on the porch, trucker hat pulled low over his eyes, arms crossed. His gaze flicked over to Cas and his brow rose.

“Hey Bobby. This is Castiel Novak. Cas, Bobby Singer.”

Bobby nodded and touched a finger to the brim of his cap. “You go by Cas?”

“Now I do, yes.”

“So. Cas. What brings you here today with this idjit?”

Dean grinned, feeling a surge of warmth at the gruff nickname. He much preferred the superficial insult to anything flowery and gushy. Besides, it was Bobby. Bobby could get away with pretty much anything with him and Sam. The converse certainly wasn’t true. Bobby had never let them get away with much of anything.

“Cas is in the market for a working car. He’s been relying on delivery, so it’s about time. Got anything promising?”

“Maybe a couple things.” He stepped down into the dusty yard. “What are you looking for?”

Cas blinked, hanging back and pushing his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “What do you mean? A car?”

“What sort of car? You planning to haul a lot of big stuff? Mostly run errands? Long road trips? You like something newer, older, big, small?” Bobby sounded uncharacteristically gentle, though not so much so that it sounded patronizing.

“Oh. Mostly errands, I suppose. Large enough to carry a few larger purchases. Reliable enough to take short trips, such as to Topeka. Preferably fuel efficient.”

“Don’t get a whole lot of fuel efficient cars around here, but if you’re not driving a lot that’s maybe not quite as much of an issue.”

“That makes sense.”

Dean smiled to himself, feeling warm at how Cas and Bobby were interacting. Cas was wary, yes, and keeping his distance, but he was participating in the conversation. He’d come such a long distance in the short time he’d been here.

“Come on, then.” Bobby led the way into the salvage yard, to the section where he kept the vehicles that were better repaired than scrapped for parts. There weren’t that many at any given time. Around Caroline people tended to drive their cars until they weren’t worth fixing even for someone like Bobby Singer, but there were exceptions.

Dean remembered many hot summers during his teen years spent here, helping Bobby fix up the cars that could be saved, eventually doing most of the work himself with only the occasional word of advice from the older man.

Cas’ gaze was immediately drawn to an ugly-ass gold Lincoln Continental pimp-mobile.

“Oh no,” Dean groaned.

“What?”

“That one? Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s a similar vintage to Baby.”

“Oh no, don’t compare that thing to my Baby. For one thing, it’s… late 70s? Baby’s a ’67. Not at all the same thing. And Baby’s gorgeous.”

“Mr. Singer, is the car functional?”

There was a suspicious glint in Bobby’s eyes, and a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Sure, son. I mean, needs a bit of work on the exhaust system before she’s ready to go, but that won’t take long. Just need to get ‘er up on the lifts and pull the bad pipes and replace ‘em.”

Dean groaned again, but went to pop the hood and look at the engine. He pushed and pulled and checked the fluids, how much rust and corrosion there was. And damn, it did look in decent shape. “Could use a bit of a tune-up too.”

“It could, yeah.”

“So this is it, Cas?”

Cas opened the door and sat down behind the wheel. There was something soft about Cas’ expression as he placed his hands at the classic ten and two position, adjusted the rear view mirror, and pulled the seatbelt into place. He turned towards Dean then. “I like it.”

Damn. Dean could already feel his next few free evenings evaporating into oil changes, new exhaust systems, and teaching Cas basic auto maintenance. He’d have to check the steering and the brakes, take a look at the timing belt, make sure there weren’t any leaks — all for an ugly-ass car that in his opinion should have never been on the road in the first place.

It turned out that Dean was a sucker for blue eyes that shone with hopefulness. “Fine, then,” he grumbled. “Let’s get to work.”

  * * *

“Hey, Cassie. How’s it shakin’, bacon?”

“Hello, Gabriel.” Cas put his cell phone on speaker so that he could continue to work on his laptop. “How is your new regional manager doing?”

“Ugh, don’t ask,” Gabriel groaned dramatically. “Actually she’s not doing bad, it’s just taking longer than I hoped it would to get everything squared away. Just about there, though. How’s the work on the house coming?”

Cas smiled, then widened his eyes in surprise that he had done so, even if there was no one to see. “The addition hasn’t yet started, though soon. In the meantime, smaller things are getting accomplished. I’ve planted my garden. Dean and I re-strung the clothesline just three days ago. I prefer my clothes drying naturally when possible. It’s much friendlier to the environment, as well as imbuing the fabrics with a freshness that is simply missing when a dryer is used.”

“Gotta love you, Cas. No one else I know would spend that much effort to wax rhapsodic about the virtues of air-drying your sheets. You and Dean, huh?”

“Yes. Like many tasks, this one was much faster and easier with two than trying to do it alone. I held the post in place while he poured the concrete around the base, then staked it upright until the concrete dried enough to support it independently. It’s really quite a fascinating process.”

“It’s watching mud dry, Cas, what’s fascinating about it? Unless the fascination comes in watching the way certain biceps ripple and bulge when performing physical labor. Oh, or how about the bonus footage of plumber’s crack?”

“Gabriel.”

Gabe laughed, but then turned more serious. “One more thing, bro. I haven’t been spending much time with the elders, but I’ve been hearing things. Mikey and Luc are still pissy about Great Aunt Hester cutting them out. So keep your eyes open, okay? I don’t trust them.”

“Nor do I.”

“I don’t know what they’re plotting, but I bet there’s something.”

Cas closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temple. “You are undoubtedly right. But without having any idea what, it’s hard to know what to watch for.”

“I know. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.”


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel sat in his turret room, ostensibly working on his latest novel, but in reality staring blankly out the window. Feelings of vague dissatisfaction gnawed at him, making his stomach turn over and his chest feel tight.

For the first time in a very long time, he was feeling stir crazy. For the first time in a very long time, the idea of staying cooped up in his office felt worse than the idea of going out to town.

Could he do it? Of course he could. But could he do it without having an anxiety attack?

He wanted to.

He could drive all the way to Topeka, do some shopping there where he’d be another anonymous face in the crowd. He could keep that as a backup plan. The idea of shopping in glorious downtown Caroline, however, filled him with a breathless excitement.

He wouldn’t have to stay long. He wouldn’t even have to go inside any of the shops if he didn’t feel up to it. Hell, he didn’t even have to get out of the car. There were options. There were always options. He could do this.

He wanted to do this.

He could stop at the grocers and look at the produce himself, rather than relying on the delivery service to select for him. He could see what other items were available, and decide what to have for dinner based on that. If it went well, maybe he could even call Dean, or text him… texting was easier… and invite him to join him for dinner.

It would be nice to demonstrate some of his cooking skills to Dean. There were some dishes he wanted to try that were a lot of work for one person. No less work when cooking for two, of course, but at least the effort seemed more worth the cost when someone other than just himself would enjoy the fruits of his labors. His options were limited with the state of the kitchen, but he enjoyed a challenge.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed, even as the fear lingered.

He carefully saved his work, then stood up and stretched. If he was going to do this — and he was going to do this, he told himself — then he should get going. He was dressed well enough for an outing. Castiel made a point out of dressing for work even though he didn’t have to, the ritual of showering and then getting dressed in something nicer than sweats and an old, worn tee helping to shift his mindset into ‘author’ mode. If Dean was going to be over and working in the house, sometimes he would dress a little less formally, in case he ventured into the construction area. More usually, he wore trousers or jeans that were still stiff and deeply colored, along with a cotton shirt. If it was cool he’d add a sweater or sweatshirt, but that was rarely the case anymore since the furnace had been tuned up.

He could take the bike, but that didn't leave him as many options. He wouldn’t be able to transport more than a small amount of purchases back with him, if he actually made it into a store. Perhaps even more important, a bike didn’t offer any real shelter if he became overwhelmed and needed to retreat to a place of safety. He didn’t like having to plan for such eventualities, but his self-recriminations over the perceived weakness didn’t hold as much weight as the potential for humiliation if he needed that safety and it wasn’t available.

Soon enough he was behind the wheel of his car, backing out of the garage and heading towards downtown Caroline, Kansas. He’d driven through it before on his way to Topeka and its safely anonymous big box stores, but never before with the intention of stopping on his own to explore. It was thrilling and terrifying all at the same time.

He drove completely through the town before turning around and doubling back to a parking spot on a side street near Sam Winchester’s office building. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and straightened, inhaling the warm sweet spring air. This was nothing like the big cities he was accustomed to, Chicago or even Topeka. The air was fresh and scented with lilacs rather than car exhaust, the light was clear when it wasn’t filtered through a faint layer of pollution. If he listened intently he could hear the susurrus of the nearby river.

According to the maps of the area, the stream that ran through his property joined up with the river upstream of Caroline. Perhaps someday he would walk or even run that path, seeing what lay between here and there. It would be a long trip but certainly doable, assuming the terrain was negotiable. He found the idea appealing. Long walks by the water were pleasant, and soothing.

That was for another day, however. Today he was going to walk along Caroline’s main street. Perhaps he would even smile and nod to people he encountered. He didn’t have to go inside any of the shops if he didn’t want to, but that was an option too.

There were a few people out and about, though not many. A pair of men, likely farmers judging by the overalls and dusty work boots, stood beside a pick-up truck filled with bags of feed, chatting amiably. The one facing his direction nodded and briefly raised a hand in greeting without pausing in his conversation. Cas nodded back but made no move to cross the street or introduce himself, which seemed to be perfectly acceptable.

Here in the main business district of the town, there was a certain charm to the buildings. Most of them had brick facades, though some had clapboard siding painted in fresh colors with a vaguely Victorian feel. Awnings shaded the display windows, some plain, some striped. Some of the storefronts even maintained planters with bursts of colorful flowers – petunias, trailing potato vines, ivy, impatiens, begonias. The most elaborate planters were in front of a store called Mildred’s Moments – multiple planters of varied heights and widths, planted with a harmonious blend of foliage plants and cheerful white and yellow flowers with splashes of pink and orange and deep purple. He approached without real intention, smiling to see fat bees lazily drifting from one bloom to the next.

When he looked up he was startled to meet the gaze of the woman working inside. She smiled in a friendly way and nodded.

Cas stiffened, controlling a sharp spike of alarm, then squared his shoulders and nodded back. He swallowed, steeled himself, and stepped inside the stop. It was pleasant in an old-time way, reminding him of Aunt Hester’s home during his childhood. There was a vaguely floral scent — lavender, perhaps? — lingering in the air.

“Hello,” the woman said. “Welcome to Mildred’s Moments. I’m Mildred.”

Cas tucked his hand inside the pocket of his trench coat, finding the worry stone there and turning it in his fingers. “Hello,” he replied, working to keep his shoulders from hunching.

She turned a smile on him. “You’re Castiel, right? I was a friend of Hester Albright for a very long time. Long enough that I remember you from when you were a child, all bright-eyed and enthusiastic about your interests.” She chuckled. “You were absolutely adorable.”

That was surprising enough that he looked up at her sharply. “You do? That was so long ago.”

“Mm, time is relative. When you get to be my age it’s odd what feels like forever ago, and what feels like practically yesterday. Yes, I do remember. You and your brothers. The others were so much more… brash and outgoing, always competing, always trying to outdo one another. But you just wanted to learn everything you could. She kept an eye on you, you know. As much as she could, when the rest of the family made it difficult. She had a soft spot for you, and always wished you would be able to visit again. She understood why it was difficult, but… well.”

“And now it is too late.” Cas felt a pang at that, and wondered how his life might have been different if he’d been allowed to continue coming to Caroline and spending time with Great Aunt Hester, without any of his brothers around.

Would he perhaps have met Dean, before he met Bartholomew? He caught his breath at that thought as a brilliant flash of possibilities exploded behind his eyes. Childhood memories he’d never experienced. Playing by the creek with Dean, barefoot, mud up to their knees, chasing frogs and laughing when they hopped away, when one or the other of them fell and was coated in the mud, head to toe. Perhaps even having the fortitude to insist on going to college wherever Dean was, building a relationship with him rather than Bart.

“Not for everything. You’re here, right? She’d be happy to know that, to know that you’re staying.”

“I… I hope that’s true.”

“I know it is. She told me she hoped for it, that giving you something not tied to your family would allow you to be yourself here.” Mildred smiled, toyed with a beaded bracelet in a small crystal bowl near the register. “Would you like to have some coffee? I have some in the back.”

“Oh.” He considered that, then shook his head. “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but not today.”

“Perhaps another time, then. You’re always welcome. I can tell you more about the woman your aunt was.”

Cas was surprised to find that he was actually tempted by the offer. “Yes… yes, I will consider that. Thank you.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Cas made his excuses and headed back out to Main Street. He could see the solid brick-faced building where Sam Winchester’s office was. It looked like it had been around for a hundred years, maybe more. He could almost see a man in a long duster coat and a cowboy hat stepping out of the building, nodding to a lady with long skirts and a bonnet.

He smiled to himself at the flight of fancy, but it also prompted some curiosity about the history of the town. Maybe at some point he would make his way to the town archives. Smaller towns like this, most of the documents were unlikely to be available online. Perhaps someday a Steven Emmanuel book could be set in a town like this. There would have to be many changes. His books weren’t so closely based on reality. But a few twists and turns, and perhaps…

“Hey, Cas!”

Cas looked up sharply to see Sam Winchester crossing the street with a smile on his face, waving in greeting as he jogged to catch up to him. “It’s great to see you, man!”

“It is good to see you as well, Sam. How are you? And how are Jessica and Mariel?” That was polite conversation. He did know the rules. He could apply them perfectly well in the fiction he wrote. It was coming up with them when he couldn’t take his time, couldn’t control the others’ reactions that was more challenging.

“They’re great, just wonderful. Jess was saying she’d like to have you and Dean over sometime, maybe play some board game or something. It’d be great to have a fourth. Some games are just better with four people, and Mariel is a little young to keep up so far.”

Cas quirked a smile at that. “I have little doubt she will be a formidable opponent once she understands that game pieces are to be moved on the board, not chewed on.”

“I know, right?” Sam laughed. “What brings you to beautiful downtown Caroline today?”

Cas braced himself for tension that never came. That was surprising. “I felt that it was time, I suppose. I am still intending to visit the grocer, and then I will be ready to head back home. I had a conversation with Mildred.” He gestured back towards that store. “It seems that she remembers my previous visits to Caroline, though I was a child at the time.”

“Oh yeah? I knew she’d been friends with Mrs. Albright, but I hadn’t realized it went back that long. Mildred Baker is good people. She knit a baby blanket for Mariel that we use all the time. It’s soft and has gorgeous colors in it.”

That seemed so very small town to Cas, but he wasn’t about to say so.

“That was kind of her.”

“It really was. How’s the progress on the house coming? Dean thinks it’s making good time. He’s so happy to be able to work on it, I don’t know if he’s told you. He’s always loved that place, kept trying to nudge Mrs. Albright into doing some of the work you’re having done now, but she’d gotten to a point where she didn’t want to have the disruption. I can respect that.”

“I wish… I wish I’d had the opportunity to know her better,” he said. “I suspect my life might have been vastly different had that been permitted.”

Sam smiled softly, reached out to brush his fingers against Cas’ elbow lightly, briefly. The merest hint of contact. Cas appreciated the restraint. He was far more comfortable around Sam and Dean than most people other than Gabriel.

“We might have met you when we were all younger, if you’d had a chance to be around more.”

“I had a similar thought, earlier. That would have been… well. That’s an exercise in futility, isn’t it? It didn’t happen that way, and who knows. It might well have been disastrous, rather than the idyllic boyhood summers we’d dream of.”

“It’s a fantasy. You’re allowed to let it turn out nicely rather than disastrously.”

Cas shook his head, too seriously for the conversation. “No. Fantasies are dangerous. They let you think it’s okay to want something you can never have.” Then his eyes widened. Had he really said that out loud?

Judging by the look in Sam’s eyes, yes. Yes, he had.

How absolutely mortifying. “I need to… to go. It was nice to talk to you, Sam. Have a good day.” He hunched his shoulders protectively and turned, walking quickly back towards his car, pretending not to hear Sam calling after him.


	16. Chapter 16

When Dean said he needed a few weeks to catch up on his other commitments, Cas honestly didn’t expect to see him at all until he was ready to start working on some of the other projects. He pushed aside the unhappy feeling in his chest, ignoring it as he always ignored inconvenient emotions, and when that failed, channeled the feelings into writing emotion-laden scenes in the next Steven Emmanuel manuscript.

Cas was, therefore, surprised when Dean called him one evening while he was stirring his homemade marinara sauce. He was looking forward to being able to use tomatoes and herbs he’d grown in his own garden. He hoped that Great Aunt Hester would approve.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, his voice warm even through the tinny cell phone. “I was wondering… are you busy tonight? I finished my job today a little earlier than expected, so I have some extra time. I thought maybe you’d like to hang out, maybe watch a movie or something.”

“Oh. You would like that?”

“Yeah, man, of course. Unless you have other plans.”

“No, not really. I’m making marinara sauce now. It needs to simmer on low for an hour or so. I thought I’d make some pasta while that’s happening.”

“Make pasta? Like, from scratch?” The incredulity in Dean’s voice was hard to miss.

“It’s not that hard, really. I have a pasta roller attachment for my mixer, which makes it even easier.”

“Dude. Color me impressed. I’ve never known anyone who makes pasta from scratch.”

“Would you like to come over and share it with me?” The invitation popped out of his mouth before Cas even consciously knew it was happening. He froze, his eyes going wide with shock. Had he really done that? Had he invited Dean over for dinner?

He didn’t do that. He hadn’t done that since the first few months with Bartholomew. Casual invitations were anything but.

“That sounds amazing. I’ve heard all about your awesome cooking, but I haven’t had a chance to try it yet. Do you want me to bring anything? Bread? Maybe some beer? Or wine, I suppose, if you’re making fancy stuff.” Dean didn’t even pause, talking right through Cas’ panicked silence. Could it be that he hadn’t even noticed? Either that or was just disregarding it?

Which was even the better answer? If he was disregarding it, well… that could be good? It was a way to give Cas a little time to gather himself again, without calling attention to any awkward silence. Yes, that was a good thing.

He thought.

It had to be a good thing, as long as Dean was the person he seemed to be.

“Oh. I’d hardly call pasta with marinara sauce anything fancy.”

“If you’re making it from scratch it is. And you’re calling it pasta with marinara sauce, not just spaghetti.”

“Technically they aren’t spaghetti noodles. I’m making tagliatelle.”

“See? Fancy stuff. Tagliatelle. Not just noodles.”

Cas laughed. “If you insist.”

“I do insist. So. I’ll figure out something to contribute. I can be there in half an hour or so, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, that would be more than okay. Thank you.”

“What the hell are you thanking me for? I’m the one who more or less invited himself over.”

 _Thank you for wanting to spend time with me. Thank you for being my friend… I think?_ _Time to just change the subject. That way lies turbulent seas._ “I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as the call ended, Cas looked around. Was the house even clean and tidy enough for a guest? Did Dean count as a guest, with as much as he’d been here? He knew the house as well as Cas, possibly better, since he’d been working on it while Cas hid himself away in his office, working on his Word documents.

Whether he counted as a guest or not, Cas couldn’t both tidy up and get the pasta made, so with a small sound of discontent he decided to let the house be as it was. He wasn’t a messy person by nature. If there were some stray papers and other items strewn about, Dean was unlikely to care. Dean never stood on ceremony.

He was nothing like Bartholomew.

 * * *

Dean showed up soon afterwards, knocking before letting himself in. “Hey Cas. Oh my God, that smells amazing.” He came through to the kitchen, his nostrils flared.

“It’s the garlic,” Cas answered matter-of-factly. “Garlic and onion are both very fragrant, and the tomato enhances the aroma.”

“That’s not all that’s in that sauce.”

Cas tipped his head to one side, turning to regard Dean thoughtfully. “You have a good nose.”

“For some things, sure.” He grinned.

“You’re right, it’s not all that’s in the sauce. There is also basil, and oregano. A hint of beef broth that I made myself.”

“Not just a little red and white can dumped in with the rest of the ingredients?”

“No, Dean. Not just a little red and white can.”

Dean laughed. “I love that flat, patient tone. You realize I can still hear you mentally shouting ‘how can he be this much of an idiot’?”

“Impossible. That’s not what I’m mentally shouting.”

“So you are mentally shouting something.”

“Possibly. I’m not telling you what it is.”

“Then I’ll stick with my own version.” Dean lightly slapped Cas on the shoulder. “What do you want me to do? Set the table? I brought the wine. Not even the cheapest stuff. You should be proud of me. I usually prefer whiskey. You drink whiskey?”

“Only when I want to be a pretentious author and sit at my desk with a tumbler of whiskey or bourbon.”

“And how often does that happen?”

Cas looked at him briefly, over his shoulder. Debated whether or not to be honest. “It happened once,” he admitted. “Bartholomew had brought home a bottle. I was curious, so I poured myself a glass. It wasn’t bad.” The whiskey wasn’t, anyhow. Bart’s anger that Cas had helped himself to a serving of $300-a-bottle liquor was a different story entirely.

Dean laughed. “You lush, you. How long before dinner’s ready?”

“Not long. I just have to boil the pasta. The sauce has simmered long enough for the flavors to be fully integrated.”

“Awesome. I’ll get the table set, then.”

They worked in companionable silence while Cas finished the meal and Dean wiped down the table and then set it. Cas plated, swirling the noodles just so and carefully pouring just the right amount of sauce over them, then garnished with a small sprig of basil.

“This is gorgeous, Cas. Doesn’t just smell good, it looks amazing. Did you learn to cook as a kid?”

“Ha. No. No, something as practical and… what’s the right word… well. Cooking is a task for the servant classes. Not for a proper Novak, even one as odd as I was. I was barely even allowed in the kitchen, let alone allowed to learn any of the equipment.”

“Oh yeah. Sometimes I forget that you grew up rich.”

That was something Castiel never forgot. Wealth, he had discovered very early, did not necessarily equate to happiness.

“So if not when you were a kid, when?”

Cas twirled a noodle around his fork to buy a little time. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

“Not even Gabriel?”

“Well… to be fair, Gabriel didn’t have to ask. He knew I hadn’t known how to cook. And then I did.” He took a bite of the pasta. It had turned out quite well — just the right texture and perfectly al dente. The sauce could perhaps use a hint more brightness. The tomatoes were early, and not as robustly flavorful as later varieties.

He wanted to tell Dean more, to his own surprise. Finding the words wasn’t easy, and was frustrating given that words were his currency.

Then again, writing wasn’t always easy either. Sometimes he just couldn’t find the right way to say something. He knew what he wanted to accomplish, and where he wanted to go. But sometimes the phrases, the sentences, the paragraphs, were impossible to arrange into meaningful patterns.

Telling this tale meant revealing things about himself. Even if he was cautious, it was unlikely that Dean would be oblivious to the details left unsaid. Still, he wanted to talk.

“I learned after I moved in with Bartholomew. The condo had a well-equipped kitchen, and I spent a great deal of time there. At first I left for classes and some study time at the campus library, but after I finished my degree there really wasn’t much necessity for me to leave, and… well, Bartholomew subtly discouraged my developing any outside interests. He was the one who suggested I write for niche journals and had various texts I needed delivered. We also had groceries delivered. Bartholomew often had business dinners, so I found myself alone for meals quite often. I got… bored, with boxed meals. So I started ordering some fresh ingredients, and taught myself how to prepare them.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and he looked vaguely horrified. “Bartholomew was an ass.”

“Yes.” Cas swallowed hard. “He… I was young, when we met. Barely eighteen. He wasn’t much older, but he was a great deal more worldly and experienced. I was flattered to receive his attention, and I soaked it up. The attention, and what seemed to be shared interests and passions. After Gabriel left I was mostly left to my own devices at home. College was overwhelming. Bartholomew became my anchor. I was in love with him, or at least with the idea of him and what he was to me. I thought he was in love with me, too.”

Dean reached over to squeeze Cas’ wrist, but then let go again, clearly worried that he was taking unwanted liberties.

Cas caught his breath, struck with a sudden _want_ that sent a wave of heat through him. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like this.

Confused and mortified, Cas looked down to his plate again, fixing the placement of his utensils. The fork was too far from the plate, the knife not perfectly perpendicular to the table’s edge.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“But… I do want to. I just don’t… the words, they…” He shrugged helplessly.

“You’re doing fine. If you want to tell me, I want to listen. Take your time. Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas adjusted the distance between the plate and the edge of the table.

“Turns out he wasn’t actually in love with me. He was just in love with the lifestyle that my family’s money could buy for him. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted so badly for the superficial to be the reality. I wanted to believe that we were happy together. I was blindly planning for a future… looking into options for having children, whether it be through surrogacy or through adoption. I told you before how that turned out.”

“Yeah. You did.” Dean’s expression grew stormy.

“I called Gabriel, even though I knew Bartholomew would be furious about that too. It was an international call, and therefore outrageously expensive. Gabriel thinks it wasn’t the money, it was that I was talking to someone who cared about me and had a more objective point of view. Gabe knew something was badly wrong, so he returned home. The rest of the story is ugly and lengthy and … and sad, but it ended with me on my own again, this time in an apartment leased by the family under Michael’s name.”

“So you exchanged one prison for another,” Dean said bluntly.

Cas winced. “I suppose that is a fair enough assessment.” He should have seen what was happening. He should have been stronger, more assertive. He should have never gotten involved with Bartholomew in the first place.

“Hey.” Dean touched him again, this time on his upper arm, gripping firmly but not painfully, shaking lightly. “Don’t. I can see you’re blaming yourself, and of everyone who’s at fault in that mess, you are not one of them.”

“Of course I am, Dean. I let him get close to me. I didn’t see his true nature. I am terrible at people skills.”

“Okay, there’s a whole truck full of wrong with that statement, but bottom line? That doesn’t make it your fault. You’re the victim here, not a … not a damned co-criminal, if there is such a thing. Sounds to me like asshole Bart was a master manipulator who saw an opening and took it.”

Cas shrugged. Dean was likely right, but still, it didn’t make him feel any better. It was difficult to feel like anything but a failure. What was he supposed to say to that? “I read enough to understand about motivations.”

“I’m sorry, dude, but reading about emotions and what people are thinking isn’t at all the same thing as learning how to read someone’s facial expressions and body language. Even TV, everything’s edited and carefully constructed to make things clear, including the soundtracks. You get a bouncy happy song in a major key when Dr. Sexy looks at Dr. Piccolo, you get an entirely different interpretation than if you use that same footage and underlay it with an ominous growling rumble.”

“My mother didn’t approve of television.”

“Not disproving my point, Cas.”

“No. I suppose not.” He wound some noodles around the tines of his fork and took a thoughtful bite. “In any event. Cooking was something I could use to keep myself busy, and it had the added benefit of producing something tasty. Eventually.” He quirked a half smile. “Not all of my attempts are successful. It took some time before I mastered pasta. If you don’t get the flour to water ratio right, they can disintegrate as soon as you try to cook them.”

“Well, these? These are amazing.” Dean took another bite, making an exaggerated sound of pleasure.

Cas chuckled softly, and Dean grinned as though it were the best thing ever.

Perhaps it was.

After dinner, Dean helped Cas to clear the table. He poured them each a bit more of the wine, then looked around the kitchen.

“Have you decided, then, what you want to do? As far as fixing up the kitchen?”

“I have,” Cas says. “I’ve looked at various house plans on the internet, and considered what I want long-term, and looked at my monetary situation. It doesn’t make sense to me to only do the bare minimum of what needs to be done. If I’m going to renovate, I would prefer to do it all at once.”

Dean smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. What did you decide you want to do? Are you going with bumping out the back of the house, then?”

“Yes. Expanding the kitchen, adding a proper family room and attached garage, expanding the master bath upstairs and adding a second floor above the kitchen as well, with two additional bedrooms. I don’t need them right now, but… well. Perhaps someday I will have need of the space.”

He couldn’t quite articulate the desire for a family that had recently been reignited in his heart, but nor would he ignore it. Additional bedrooms might never be used, but he couldn’t bear to rule out the possibility entirely.

Cas briefly left, returning with a file folder full of printouts from his research. “I thought something along these lines for a floor plan, and a kitchen similar to this.”

Dean took the folder and paged through it, his smile growing with each page. “This is almost exactly what I would do, Cas. These are great. It’s a big enough project that we should really get the plans drawn up by an architect. It’s an extra expense, but it’s worth it. I know someone who’d be great. Her name is Anne Marie, and she’s got a great eye as well as a practical mind. She really knows her stuff, and isn’t going to draw up something that’s cool on paper but a real bitch to actually construct. Do you want me to get in touch with her?”

“I would like that. Yes. Let’s do it.”

  * * *

It took a great deal of discussion and pulling permits and working with Anne Marie, but by summer Cas had plans in hand for the addition to the house that finally felt like his, not Great Aunt Hester’s. Dean helped to pack everything from the kitchen that he could get by without for the duration of the construction project. They moved the refrigerator into the dining room along with the microwave and moved other essential supplies into the hutch, packing away Hester’s fine china and glassware and storing it in the garage.

Dean took a couple beers from the fridge, handing one to Cas. He popped the lid, tapped the two bottles together. “A toast to the new kitchen. It’s going to be awesome.”

“I certainly hope so.” Cas was equal parts nervous and excited. On paper the new kitchen and the rest of the addition would be amazing.

On paper.

“It will be,” Dean said confidently. “I’m going to do my best work for you. I’ll make sure the crew leaves you alone. You can hole up in your study with… hey, that reminds me.” He reached into the bag he’d brought with him, pulling out a box awkwardly wrapped with newsprint. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“It’s for you. Open it, then you’ll know what it is.” Dean pushed the box towards him again.

Cas took it, a strange warmth in his chest. Dean had bought him a gift? It wasn’t his birthday or Christmas, more traditional gift-giving occasions. Not that he expected Dean to give him gifts for those occasions. They were friends, he was confident in that now. As confident as he could be. But not all friends exchanged gifts.

“Oh.” He turned the box over in his hands, noting the excess application of tape. He pushed a nail under one edge to loosen it.

“Yeah, I know, I suck at wrapping. Just open it, dude.”

“I am.” He got an edge up, and pulled.

It was a set of noise-cancelling headphones.

“To help you concentrate on your writing during the construction,” Dean helpfully explained. “There’s no help for construction being loud. On the worst days you can use my place to write, if you want. Or just to escape the noise. But these should do the trick most of the time, other than when we’re blowing the wall out or doing a lot of nailing.”

“Dean. This is very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well… least I can do, if we’re going to throw your life into chaos for the next two months. Fingers crossed. All goes well we can be done in two months.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Hey, Sam.”

“Hey,” Sam returned Dean’s greeting, walking into the workshop and looking around. “Cabinets. These for Cas’ place?” He trailed a hand over the cherry wood boxes, then moved around to the wall where the cupboard doors were lined up.

“Yeah. There are still a few more things we have to get done before we install them, but it’ll come up sooner than you know.”

“These are gorgeous.” Sam leaned down to look more closely at the doors. Then he moved on to the showpiece — the vent hood for over the stove. Right now it was just the frame, the shape blocked out and the centerpiece framed. The actual design wasn’t there yet. It was going to be a series of three panels — one of which was on his worktable. Sam moved along to look at it, then looked at Dean with a raised brow.

“I like the project, okay?” he said defensively.

“Uh huh.” Sam reached out to touch the unfinished panel. The wood was partially carved out, the design drawn on the surface with a carpenter’s pencil. He drew his finger along the lines of the background honeycomb, design, then the central bee. Dean’s carving tools rested alongside the block of wood with curls of wood shavings.

“A bee, huh?” Sam turned his attention to the other two panels, which weren’t any farther than the initial sketch. “And a hive, and flowers with smaller bees. This is a lot of work, Dean.”

“It’s not really work. I like doing it.”

“Whether you like it or not, it’s still a lot of work. That panel you did for us is the showpiece of the kitchen. And then there’s the one you did for Ellen, and for Bobby. Hm. Am I sensing a theme here?”

“Shut up, Sam.” The carving he’d done for Sam was framed up and hung on the wall, because they hadn’t remodeled the kitchen yet. Someday. When they decided what they actually wanted — and whether or not they were going to stay in the house they were currently in. Odds were they’d eventually want somewhere larger, with a bigger yard. Somewhere that Mariel could play outside. With a dog. And maybe a little brother.

Sam hooked one of the nearby stools with his foot, pulled it over, and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “You really like Cas.”

Dean avoided looking at him. “That’s not shutting up.”

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s true though, isn’t it. You like Castiel Novak.”

“Of course I like him,” Dean tried a different tactic. “What’s not to like? The dude might take a while to let you in at all — and who can really blame him? But when he does? He’s so smart, and funny in this weird deadpan way that makes you wonder if he even realizes he’s being funny, but then there’s just the tiniest little glimmer in his eyes, and the tiniest smile, and yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He loves that house, and he wants to treat her right, and I like that about him, too. You know how long I’ve wanted to see that.”

“Uh huh. It’s a shared love of the house.”

“Yup. This is for the house.” He gestured to the carving Sam was talking about.

“It is for the house. But it’s also for Cas. Bees, huh?”

“He likes bees. Wants to have a hive or two, eventually. After his gardens are established enough to attract them.”

“I like him too,” Sam says. “He’s a good guy. But skittish when it comes to relationships. Sort of like someone else I know.”

“I’m not skittish about relationships. Just don’t want to settle.” And damn, he hadn’t meant to say anything along those lines. Sam just had a way of getting him feeling defensive, and then he word vomited things he had no intention of sharing.

“Settle as in settle down? Or settle as in settling for a relationship that isn’t everything it could be?”

“So we’re going to have this conversation.” He ran a hand through his hair, then cursed because now he had sawdust in his hair. “Fine. Settle for anything less than what you have with Jessica.”

Sam ran his finger over one of the bees. “So this is sort of a courtship gift. I mean, we know he’s into guys, so you’re good there. And you’re, what was it you like to say, an equal opportunity kind of a guy?”

“Something like that, yeah.” It had taken him a few years after Dad’s death to admit his bisexuality even to himself, but it had also been a few years since he’d told Sam and a few others he was close to. Sam honestly didn’t care at all. Intellectually Dean had been certain he wouldn’t, but it still had been a terrifying thing to admit to. Bobby and Ellen didn’t exactly have a problem with it, but it took them a little longer to decide it was a non-issue.

He’d had more hook-ups than actual relationships, but one of the four relationships that had lasted longer than a week was with a guy, and overall, it had gone well.

“So being an equal opportunity kind of a guy, you have to have noticed that Cas is attractive. And that the two of you click better than I’ve seen you with anyone since… ever?”

Dean growled a frustrated sound. “Yeah, okay, so there’s that,” he conceded defeat. “But… you know Cas. He needs a friend. There’s a damned good chance that I’d ruin that if I tried to take it any farther. And sure, that’s an option, but I don’t know how he’d take it, and if he saw it as betraying the trust he’s cautiously placing in me? I can’t do that. I just can’t.”

Sam frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah… okay, I can see that. I don’t know that he would see it like that.”

“But you don’t know that he wouldn’t.”

“Right. I don’t know that he wouldn’t. I’m not sure that treating him with kid gloves is the right answer.”

“I don’t know either. But it’s… easier, maybe. Safer, for sure.”

“Safer for Cas isn’t necessarily better for Cas. Not in this.”

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

“Uh, no. Not really. Just… maybe try and make some overtures? At least let him know you’re open to more. You never told him anything about Aaron, did you?”

“No, but I’ve never told him anything about Robin, Cassie, or Lisa either.”

“Maybe start there? See how he reacts.”

“Maybe.” He couldn’t deny that he’d considered it, but damn. How do you just go from talking about the latest details on the remodel to just dropping in a little ‘by the way, I’ve had both boyfriends and girlfriends, and the style of the plumbing makes no difference to me’? Big deep conversations weren’t his cup of tea. He hated talking about anything that smacked of emotions.

Deep down, he knew Sam was right. But knowing it and doing it were two entirely different things. Maybe he could find a way to casually drop it into the conversation. Sam was right. It was only fair to let Cas know that he wasn’t straight.

 * * *

“You ready for this?”

Dean stood beside Cas, outside, a safe distance from the house. The sleeves of his plaid work shirt were rolled up to the elbow. Cas worked very hard to not pay excessive attention to his bare forearms, or the way the muscles and tendons were so beautifully defined.

“I am.” Cas bounced once on the balls of his feet with nerves.

“Here. Put this on.” Dean handed him a yellow hard hat with black duct-tape stripes. Cas turned it in his hands, looked at Dean, arching his brow.

Dean grinned. “You like bees, right?”

“Hmph.” He gave Dean a flat look, but secretly he was pleased. He placed the hat on his head, adjusting the strap in the back so that it fit securely, then accepted the safety glasses Dean handed him. “Do I look like a construction worker now?”

Dean’s gaze traveled from Cas’ lightweight white button-down to his trousers with the neat crease down the front of his legs to the tasseled loafers on his feet. “Um, sure, Cas. You look like a regular worker bee.”

Cas smiled and lifted his camera, focusing on the rear of the house. “Let’s do this.”

Dean gave a signal to the Caterpillar operator. He returned a thumbs up, then shifted into reverse, backing away from the house. The chain attached to the support posts tightened, then strained. Cas found himself holding his breath as the beams started to bow.

They’d built new supports inside to maintain the structural integrity of the part of the house that was to remain intact, but what if they somehow failed as well? Why had he agreed to this? Was he about to be responsible for irreparable damage to the old home he loved so well? He didn’t want to utterly destroy the existing home! His heart felt like it was jumping into his throat.

The groaning sound the supports made hurt his ears. “Dean…”

Dean grinned again, patting Cas on the shoulder in reassurance.

With a final shriek of protest the framing was pulled away, and the whole back of the house collapsed in a cloud of dust.

Cas took an involuntary half step backwards, alarm spiking through his veins even though he knew everything was okay. It was okay. It had to be okay.

Dean laughed, loud and happy. “That was awesome! Wasn’t that awesome? Damn, I hope someone got that on video. I love demolition. It’s so satisfying when things go crashing down, you know?”

Cas looked at him. “No. No, Dean, I do not know. Why is this satisfying?”

“Because it’s loud and things go boom! Look, though, Cas. Everything that’s supposed to still be standing is still standing. Even the plastic is still intact.” Dean and his crew had meticulously installed temporary walls with high-grade plastic stapled to them, designed to keep the construction dirt away from the parts of the house that were still in use. “Couldn’t have gone any better.”

Cas exhaled a long, slow breath. “Well. It certainly could have gone worse, I will allow that.”

Dean laughed and slapped him on the back.

 * * *

The gift of the noise-cancelling headphones was a blessing. Even with the headphones Cas could feel the banging and sawing and miscellaneous other activities taking place in his house, but it helped enough that he was able to concentrate on his writing. Most of the time. When he wasn’t distracted thinking of Dean, or getting nervous about the strangers in his home, or worrying about what Michael and Luc might be up to.

Sometimes, though, Dean would interrupt him, like today. “Heya, Cas.”

Cas looked up. “Hello, Dean.”

“We’re just about at a stopping point for now. I was thinking… it’s a gorgeous day. How would you feel about taking a break from your writing and taking a walk out back? I’ve got an idea for down the road, wanted to run it past you. It’s not immediate. Probably not even this year, honestly, with everything else we’ve got going on. But still.”

“Out back?”

“Yeah, down to the creek.”

“In that case I will wish to change my clothes. I’ve done some exploring back there; it can be muddy.” He lifted his foot, extending it out the side of the desk to show Dean the loafers he was wearing.

Dean grinned. “Yeah, those aren’t the best backyard-exploring shoes, are they.”

“Most certainly not.”

After changing into sturdy jeans and walking shoes, Cas joined Dean outside, and they walked through the overgrown meadow towards the trees and merrily babbling creek at the rear of the property.

“When I was a child, I liked to come back here,” Cas mused. “We didn’t come here often, and not at all after Great Aunt Hester fell out with my parents. But I do remember coming here. There used to be a lot of frogs. I think there still may be. Sometimes, when I have the windows open and there aren’t the sounds of construction, I can hear them croaking under the birdsong.”

He carefully walked down the slight embankment to the edge of the water, Dean a short distance behind.

“Catching frogs is a hell of a lot of fun when you’re a kid, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t so much catch them as observe them. And sometimes, rescued them from the buckets that Michael and Luc used to hold the ones they caught.”

Dean chuckled. “Why does this not surprise me?”

Cas shrugged one shoulder. “I was odd even as a child.”

“I wouldn’t say odd. At least not in a bad way. Just because you liked different things from your brothers didn’t make you odd.”

“Of course it did.”

“I actually snuck out here a couple times when I was a kid,” Dean admitted. “And some when I was older, too.” He flashed a grin towards Cas. “Came in from downstream, walked a ways up to this cool spot. Was always one of my favorites. I brought all my serious relationships here for a bit of a make-out session. Nothing too hot and heavy, but some nice kisses, a bit of touching. Robin, Cassie, Erin, Lisa…” Dean was watching him for his reaction, though he was pretending not to.

Cas smiled because it was expected, though he wasn’t entirely happy to hear that.

He instinctively backed away from that unhappiness, knowing that he didn’t want to examine it more closely. Not right now.

Maybe not ever.

Dean’s brow furrowed. Cas suspected that for some reason he was disappointed with that response. Cas didn’t know what else he was supposed to do or say. Oh. Say. He should probably say something. “Your youth was quite different from mine.”

Dean smiled crookedly, shrugging one shoulder. “True. I grew up here in good old Caroline, Kansas. Small town, neighbors who were always aware of my business.”

“I, on the other hand, grew up in Chicago with few outside contacts. For the most part I was content keeping to my own devices. Most of my interests are individual ones. Certainly I didn’t go to secret hideaways with potential romantic interests.”

Perhaps if he had he wouldn’t have been as vulnerable to Bartholomew’s ill intent.

“Yeah. You missed out on some fun times. But nothing says you can’t make up for it. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you always have to act grown up. I don’t. Just ask Sam.” He grinned, shaking off the earlier mood, whatever it was.

Cas smiled. “So what was your idea?”

“Oh yeah, almost forgot, getting lost in the memories. Good times. Anyhow, what would you think about constructing a half moon bridge over the water? Or really any kind of a bridge. It’d let you get to the rest of the property more easily, but it would also be a cool place to just hang out. Sit down and dangle your feet down into the water on a hot day. Could make it one of those really pretty ones like they have in Japanese gardens.”

“Hm. That idea is actually quite appealing. Construct a path leading from the house? Perhaps even some simple hidden gardens along the way, tucked away in corners?”

“Yeah, something like that. It’d be awesome, don’t you think?”

Cas’ smile grew wider as he imagined it. “Yes. Yes, it would be. Completely awesome.”

 * * *

Dean typically stayed a little later than his crew, going up to knock on Cas’ turret room door and let him know everyone was gone. Cas usually left the door open slightly.

Now that it was warmer out, Cas tended to wear short-sleeved shirts while he was writing. Dean paused in the door frame, watching him. The headphones weren’t exactly flattering, but Dean liked the way Cas’ hair curled around the cups, liked the way Cas scowled faintly at his laptop between dashes of mad typing.

“Oh. Dean. How long have you been standing there tonight?”

“Not that long,” Dean said. “Didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“It’s not an issue. I don’t want to keep you longer than you need to be. You’re putting in long days.”

“Long days for you too, holed up in here.”

“I don’t spend every moment in here.” Cas looked up in time to catch Dean’s skeptical glance. “All right. Most moments. But not all. I like it here. This room is a large part of why I wanted to stay here. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted from a writing space. It’s isolated from the rest of the house so that it feels like I’m going away to work. And the views are amazing.”

Dean looked around. “Yeah, it does have a pretty view. Much better than my little apartment. I just look out over the neighbors, and they’re just ordinary houses, not particularly well maintained, and they’re not that great with the yards, either. Poor Evelyn and Ross are fighting a losing battle with weeds.”

“I haven’t had any experience with yard care. I imagine that next year, when the yard is recovering from the construction machinery, that I will have my own struggles with weeds.

“Most likely. But you’re not going for a perfectly manicured look anyhow, are you?”

“No, unlikely. I will want some portions of lawn, though, nearer to the house.”

“Yeah. That’s something for next year, though.” Dean couldn’t help but smile at the idea that Cas was going to be here next year. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

Cas arched a brow, then shrugged a shoulder. “I thought I would have a sandwich with leftovers from last night. You may have noticed that my kitchen, bad as it was before, is even worse at the moment. So good cooking isn’t an option for dinner tonight.”

“Well shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“It just occurred to me… and it should have a while ago. Your kitchen here’s going to be a mess for a month, yet. You want to use mine, when you need to cook? Or even hang out at my place while we’re working here? It’d be a lot quieter. You wouldn’t have this awesome working space, but you wouldn’t need to be using the headphones.”

“That is very kind of you to offer, Dean.”

“Well, there’s some self interest in there too. I’d like to try more of these famous dishes.”

Cas smiled. “Ah. Self-interest. In that case, how can I deny you?”

Dean clapped him on the back. “That’s what I like to hear. How about tonight?”

“Tonight? Do you have groceries to make something?”

“If I don’t I’d stop and get something. I don’t want you to have to eat a sad, lonely sandwich.”

“Dean. You’ve already confessed to self-interest, rather than concern for my diet.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Cas laughed. “Fine. I’ll come make dinner for you.”


	18. Chapter 18

When Dean arrived to work three days later, Sam was with him. Cas was confused. Sam wasn’t exactly dressed in work clothes, at least not construction work. The contrast between Sam in his dress shirt and sport jacket, Dean in his jeans and flannel shirt was striking. “Hello, Sam. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Sam extended his hand to shake Cas’ while Dean made his way like a homing pigeon to the carafe of coffee Cas always had waiting for him. “Hi, Cas. Sorry to not give you any warning. I hope it’s okay.”

Even a month ago it wouldn’t have been, but Cas was comfortable, now, with the entire Winchester family. “Yes, it’s fine. Would you like a cup of coffee? Dean is undoubtedly already helping himself.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” Once the three of them all had drinks, Dean excused himself to get started on whatever he was planning to work on today.

Sam turned his mug in his hands, taking another sip before setting it down. “I have some news for you. It’s nothing you need to worry about right now, but you do need to know. There’s been some people looking into the legality of Mrs. Albright’s will. An attempt was made to file a suit, but the judge disallowed it based on lack of legal standing.”

“My brothers.”

Sam nodded. “Michael and Luc, yes. They attempted to use some strong-arm tactics, apparently believing that since Caroline, Kansas isn’t Chicago, they could use some razzle dazzle to get their way. Judge Turner is no fool, though. It didn’t get any traction.”

Cas took a series of long, slow breaths. “Gabriel warned me they were up to something. He also told me I should inform you, which I didn’t do. I suppose… I suppose I was hoping that if I ignored it, it would go away. I know better. I really do.”

“I actually did have some warning,” Sam admitted. “I was aware that someone was looking into the county records of Mrs. Albright and her husband. I got copies of everything that was released to them, so I knew we were fine, from a legal standpoint. Challenging a will generally requires grounds a lot stronger than not liking the terms. It’s a person’s right to leave their property to whoever they want, within certain parameters that don’t apply in this case, so your ownership of the property is solid.”

“That’s a relief. Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I did actually have some ulterior motive, though.” He smiled, his eyes warm. “Dean’s been talking so much about what he’s been doing here. Would you show me around, let me see how it’s coming?”

“I would be delighted.”

 * * *

Progress on the house started moving along quickly once the structure was in place. Cas agreed to let Dean bring in a larger crew in the interests of getting the work done, while Cas brought his laptop to Dean’s apartment, where he could work in peace and without the mental stress of having way too many strangers in his space, where he might run into them at any moment unless he stayed in his office. That wasn’t an option, actually, because the office had no bathroom.

More often than not, Cas stayed at Dean’s late enough to share dinner. That was bittersweet. He was growing to enjoy the company far too much. The only other time he’d regularly shared meals with someone, after leaving his childhood home, was with Bartholomew. These dinners were vastly different. Where Bartholomew had insisted on gourmet meals presented on a perfectly set table, Dean was perfectly happy with paper plates and a table that hadn’t been completely cleared from Cas’ work earlier in the day. He was more interested in talking to Cas, discussing how the house had progressed, what they’d done, what was coming up next. He also asked questions about what Cas had done during the day. It was amazing, and satisfying, and sometimes, when he thought about it, utterly terrifying.

Tonight Dean returned a little earlier than usual. Cas was making a beef dish, tender and flavorful. “This would be delicious with popovers,” Cas mused as he was chopping vegetables.

“Really? I’ve never actually had a popover. Do you have what you’d need to make them?”

“They’re quite simple, really, but the key is the pan. I have one at home.” Cas looked thoughtful. “It wouldn’t really take that long to go get it. I know exactly where it’s stored.”

“That’s kind of a lot of effort. Maybe next time.”

“No… now I would like them. The food just needs to continue cooking, so you would not have to do anything. I’ll be gone half an hour at most.”

“If you’re sure you want to.”

“I’m sure.”

Cas got into his car, smiling to himself when he got behind the wheel. He was still pleased with the Continental—not least because of the good-natured insults Dean cast her way whenever he saw her. He waved at Dean’s neighbor. He hadn’t yet spoken to the man, but he’d seen him enough times that his face was now familiar and unthreatening.

The drive was familiar now. He was surprised, though, to see a car in his yard when he arrived. Dean was always the last one to leave the site. Maybe someone had forgotten a tool? The car was unfamiliar. Still, its presence made Cas uncomfortable. He didn’t like strangers on his property while neither he nor Dean were present.

Annoyed, he shut the car door more firmly than he normally would, and headed around towards the back of the house.

An unfamiliar man looked at him. The man was dressed all in dark clothes — not black, but a mix of gray and other dark colors in a mottled pattern. He was carrying a container of… was that… oh God, he was carrying a can of gasoline, and he was pouring it along the foundations of the new construction. Oh God oh God oh God!

Ice cold fear sliced through him, utter terror, but then to his own astonishment, that terror evaporated in a flood of hot rage. This was his house, his home, and by God, he wasn’t going to let it be taken from him!

“Hey! Assbutt!” He ran towards the man, instinct overriding reason, and threw himself at him, tackling him around the knees. The ground rose up too soon, slamming into his chin and elbows with a painful jar.

The man shifted and aimed his foot at Cas’ face. Cas rolled to the side, but his heel still jammed into his shoulder, sparking more pain. He was only remotely aware of it at the moment, the adrenaline rush dimming everything else to nothing more than a vague awareness that it was going to hurt like hell a little later.

“This. Place. Is. My. HOME,” Cas growled, scrambling and somehow ending up on his back. There was a flurry of fists, of elbows, of knees and heels all fighting for freedom. Cas wasn’t a brawler. The closest he’d ever come to a fight like this was trying to escape from Lucifer’s tickle torture when he was a child, or when for some reason Michael decided his wanted something that Castiel had. Cas had always been younger and smaller, and he’d lost those bouts miserably.

But then, he hadn’t cared so much about what was at stake. He took an elbow to his cheekbone, a heel to his kneecap, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t give up. Finally he managed to pin the man under his body, remembering enough of the moves that Lucifer had used on him to get him in some sort of a wrestling hold.

So what the hell did he do now? There wasn’t anything close enough to bind him, and the minute he let go, the fight would start again. Even now the man was struggling to buck Cas off of him. Cas’ face and knee were throbbing. He couldn’t keep this up forever.

Oh. Voice recognition. “Hey Siri,” he said in a shaky voice, never so happy to hear the beep of response as in that moment. “Call 911.”

After giving his information to the emergency responder, he shifted to improve his hold on the intruder. 

He wanted to call Dean, but he was afraid to shift his attention away enough until after the police arrived.

  * * *

It seemed to take forever before he heard the sirens in the distance, but then suddenly Sheriff Mills was there, cuffing the man. Cas stood up, stumbling slightly at stretching his muscles after being so tense.

“You okay there, Mr. Novak?” The sheriff gave him a sympathetic look as the fire department pulled in. “Give me a minute here, then I’ll be back.” She read the intruder his rights. For the first time Cas really looked at him. He didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t one of the workers that Dean had hired to help with the renovation. That was a relief; he would have hated to have to tell Dean that. He was young, probably in his late twenties, with a hard look to him.

Dean.

He pulled out his phone and pressed the quick contact, surprised to note his hand was shaking.

“Hey, Cas. Thought you’d be back by now.”

“Dean.”

Immediately he heard Dean catch his breath on the other end of the line. “Cas? Cas, you okay? What’s going on?”

“Dean.” He caught a shaky breath. “There was… there was someone here. He was pouring gas…”

“I’ll be right there.”

“No, the dinner…”

“Screw dinner. It’s done anyhow. I’ll turn it off, bring it with, okay.”

“I… yeah.”

“Just hang on, buddy. I’ll be right there. Call 911.”

“Did that. Sheriff’s here.”

“Jody? Oh, that’s good, that’s good. I’m hanging up now, but I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Like I’d ever do anything else. Just hold tight.”

Cas sat on the ground. ‘Sat’ might be a deceptively graceful word. He collapsed in a heap, his phone still in his hands, dazed. He was vaguely aware of the sheriff talking to the man and putting him in the back of a squad car — not hers, another one of the department’s people — and then she came over to him, squatting down on her heels. “Hey. I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Sheriff Jody Mills.”

“Yes… yes, I know. Dean and Sam have mentioned you. I… I am pleased to meet you, Sheriff. I am Castiel Novak.”

She smiled kindly. “Please to meet you, Mr. Novak.”

“Cas will do.”

“Cas. Do you feel up to making a statement? Or do you want to do that later?”

“Now is best, isn’t it? Details get lost if they’re not captured right away.”

“That’s true, but sometimes people need a little time.”

When they were in shock, she meant. He knew that was what she meant. “No, I’m all right.”

“Then let’s get you checked out inside, and we can talk there while my people take a look around.”

She helped him to his feet, then led him around to the front of the house, carefully avoiding any of the area that might have any evidence. She took a couple pictures of his injuries, for evidence if needed. “Doesn’t seem like you’re injured enough to send you to the hospital, but let me take a look. I’ve got first aid certification.”

  * * *

They’d barely been seated in the front parlor after she checked him out when the door burst open and Dean came through, skidding to a stop when he saw Cas. “Cas.” He looked at him, looked him over from head to toe as though he was searching for any injuries, scowling when his gaze lingered on his face, fixing on Cas’ cheek.

Cas wasn’t expecting the tremor that hit him as soon as he saw Dean — nor was he expecting him to cross the space between them and wrap him up in a tight yet careful hug. “You okay?” he said gruffly against Cas’ ear.

“Yes. I am… upset. But the injuries are minor.”

“Minor injuries mean you got hurt,” Dean pointed out. “Where? Let me see. Anything other than that eye? You’re going to have one hell of a shiner from that.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“That’s not an answer.” Dean scowled. He stepped back and looked him over, lightly running his hands over Cas’ arms. He turned towards Sheriff Mills. “Did you look him over?”

She controlled a fond smile. “Yes, he’s been checked out. He’s going to have some lovely bruises, and he’ll be sore for a few days, maybe a week or two, but nothing more serious than pulled muscles and deep bruises. Might be a good idea to visit the doctor in the morning, just to be sure.””

“Pulled muscles are nothing to sneeze at, buddy,” Dean said. “I’ve had the occasional fall off of a ladder, and it sucks, especially when you don’t have anyone around to help you.”

“One does what one must. I’ll be fine, Dean.” He made a mental note to ask about that falling off of ladders later on. That didn’t sound good.

The sheriff cleared her throat. “It would be better if you had someone stay with you, at least for a day or two. But we should finish up with the statement. Cas, if you’d like Dean to stay, that’s fine – as long as he can remain quiet.”

“You act as though you have experience with that not being the case.”

“I’ve known Dean for a long time,” she said, rather than giving a straight answer.

Cas huffed a strained laugh.

“I would like him to stay.” He turned towards Dean. “Will you be able to let the sheriff perform her questioning without interrupting?”

He made a face. “Yes. I know what the rules are. I can behave myself.”

“Or else you could make some coffee and set up the meal while we’re talking,” Cas suggested. “Did you bring the food with you? You said you would.”

“Yes, I brought the food with me. And fine. I’ll get everything set up in the front parlor, since the dining room is a mess.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Mmph.”

  * * *

By the time Jody Mills left and Cas limped his way into the makeshift dining area tucked into the corner of the sitting room, Dean had the meal all set up. “You sure you want to stay here tonight?” Dean asked even before Cas had made it to the chairs. “If it creeps you out or anything you’re more than welcome to stay at my place. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch or something.”

Cas shook his head. “No. I appreciate the sentiment… but if anything, I am more determined than ever to sleep right here. I am not going to allow my brothers to drive me out of this house. I refuse.”

Dean looked at him sharply. “Is it for sure them, then? Behind this?”

That gave Cas pause. “If you mean do we have irrefutable evidence, then no. Not that I’m aware of. But certainly there is more than enough circumstantial evidence to point the finger in their direction.”

Dean poured Cas a glass of ice water. “Man, that’s crazy. I just… I can’t pretend to even begin to understand that.”

Cas looked down at his hands, suddenly unable to look up and meet Dean’s gaze. He felt such a complicated mix of emotions, some of which made sense, many of which didn’t. There was anger. That was actually good, that he could be angry. Not so long ago his primary reaction would be guilt and shame. He _knew_ intellectually that such a reaction was entirely unjustified, that none of this was his fault, but the feelings were still there.

“You okay there, bud?”

Cas looked up, appreciating the soft way that Dean asked the question. There was no demand there, just an inquiry, just support.

He took a shuddery breath. “No, I don’t think that I am. But I will be.”

Dean reached under the table with his foot, nudging the side of Cas’ shoe with his own. “You will be,” he agreed. “In the meantime… if you need to stay here tonight, then I’ll stay too. The room Gabe was using is still made up, right?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I know I don’t have to. But I want to. Do you really want me to leave?”

Cas hesitated, then shook his head in the smallest of motions.

“Good.” Dean plated them each a meal. “You should eat something. You may not feel like it, but you should. I’m reliably told that this is an excellent beef dish, though it would be better with some popovers.”

“Indeed.”


	19. Chapter 19

They didn’t talk much during dinner. It seemed that Cas needed the time to process what had happened without words, and Dean was more than content to give him the time he needed. He had some anger to work through himself. It was a good thing that the oldest Novak brothers were a few states away. Even so, it was tempting to jump in his car, tear across the country through the night, all for the pleasure of giving them shiners to match or, preferably, surpass the one that Cas was going to be sporting.

He was furious, but being furious wasn’t going to be good for Cas, so he shoved it down and worked it out by doing the dishes after they finished eating and making sure Cas took some painkillers. The kitchen still wasn’t done, so ‘doing the dishes’ involved a plastic pan and the bathtub upstairs. When he was done he brought the clean ones back downstairs, finding Cas standing in the space between the existing house and the new addition. He’d carefully pulled the protective plastic sheet out of the way and flipped on the light switch. He leaned against the door jamb, favoring his injured knee.

Most of the main construction in the kitchen was complete; the framing was done and the drywall in place, the door and new windows installed, the new subfloor and all of the plumbing and wiring were complete. So all of the main structural work was done, but there was still most of the finishing work to do.

The walls still needed to be painted, the pendant lights installed over the island, the new cabinets put in, and the new flooring as well.

Dean stepped up beside him, letting his shoulder nudge against Cas’. He closed his hand into a fist to keep from reaching out to thread their fingers together. If other days hadn’t been the right time to throw that into the mix, this sure as hell wasn’t the right time. Supportive friend. Supportive friend. That’s what Cas needed, so that was what Dean would be.

It was enough. It would be enough even if it never changed into something else. Cas was enough.

Cas was everything.

Dean blew out a breath. “So the fire department made sure all of the accelerant was neutralized?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, they neutralized it before they left, and tested the area afterwards. Thankfully he hadn’t gotten very far with his preparations, so there wasn’t much to clean up.”

“When the guys come back tomorrow I’ll make sure we check with the fire department first to make sure if there are any other precautions we should be taking.”

“That would be good.” Cas still seemed distracted, which hell. That was more than understandable.

He reached out and ran a hand over the nearest cabinet. They’d been delivered but weren’t yet installed, so they were just standing in the space. “Why do you put the cabinets in before the flooring?” Cas asked.

Dean wasn’t expecting that kind of a question, but sure. He could roll with it. Distraction, talking about something else entirely. Worked for him. “Well, you don’t have to, but the flooring under the cabinets is never going to be seen, so why spend the money to install nice flooring there when there’s no point to it?”

“But what if you decide to remodel the kitchen and move the cabinets slightly?”

“Almost no one does that. Cabinets are mounted to the walls. You don’t just pick them up and shift them six inches over. There’s an argument to putting flooring on the entire floor, before putting in the cabinets. But usually the monetary savings are worth it, unless you’re really not worried about the money. At all.”

“I suppose I hadn’t thought of that.”

 “Yeah, people often don’t.”

“So how much longer is it going to take?”

“Not much. It still looks like a whole lot of nothing, but we’re actually down to the last steps for the kitchen. The appliances are scheduled to be delivered the end of this week, and I want to have the cabinets installed and the countertops in before then. Tomorrow I was planning to to the first coat of paint, then install the cabinets and the flooring and the backsplash. We won’t get all of that done tomorrow, but it’s only a couple more days. So we’ll need that final paint color decision from you.”

“Oh, that’s not an issue. I decided that long ago.”

“Yeah? What did you choose?”

The corner of Cas’ mouth quirked up in a smile. “A warm creamy tone. I thought it would look lovely with the dark cabinets, and I could bring in the color with the accessories. I almost went with a green, but really between the cabinets and the windows there isn’t that much wall anyhow.”

“True, and you can always add some artwork on the walls too. Awesome. You have the paint chip nearby? I want to see it.”

 * * *

Dean was in the middle of painting the kitchen walls when the front doorbell rang. Cas looked out the windows of his study to see a delivery truck in the yard. He frowned. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries, was he?

Oh. The reader copies of the first book of his, of Steven Emmanuel’s, new series. Hannah had told him she was shipping them

Cas heard Dean go to the door, and a moment later the truck trundled off down the gravel drive. Then there was the distinctive sound of Dean’s work boots ascending the stairs.

“Package came, Cas,” Dean said, stepping in and setting the box down on the side table. “DIdn’t know you were expecting anything.”

“No, I had forgotten.” Inside that box were pristine copies of the book, copies he was expected to share with beta readers and others who might market the upcoming release. Dean was a fan of Steven Emmanuel, a big enough fan that his copies of the first series took up valuable space in his limited storage, right at eye level where they were most obvious to any guests;

“Okay. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No. No, Dean, stay. I… yes. Well.” He picked at the edge of the tape that sealed the box closed, loosening it as he gathered his courage. “I... if this is what I believe it to be, I want you to have one of them.”

“One of what?” Now Dean’s curiosity was piqued; that was completely obvious. He leaned forward slightly, his green eyes sparkling with interest, his body language open and eager and filled with anticipation.

Cas swallowed again, then ripped the tape off of the box. An image of the ‘rip the bandage off’ metaphor hit him, and he chuckled, all the while aware that it was an entirely inappropriate reaction.

“One of these.” He opened the box the rest of the way, reached in and pulled out one of the books, then handed it over to Dean, his hand shaking enough that the book obviously wobbled.

“Dude.” Dean turned the book over to look at the cover, and his breath hissed through his teeth. “Cas. This is a Steven Emmanuel book. One I haven’t read.”

“Of course you haven’t read it. It isn’t being released until September.”

“So how did you get your paws on a copy?”

“Many copies,” Cas corrected helpfully, gesturing towards the opened box currently resting in one of the window seats.

“Not an answer.”

“Ah, well. Yes. I suppose it isn’t.” Cas shrugged one shoulder slightly, feeling his face grow warm. “They’re advance copies.”

“I got that.”

“Authors often get advance copies, to help with promotion.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”

Dean still wasn’t getting it. Cas knew he wasn’t being very clear, and yet… why was this so difficult to say? Why?

Perhaps because he hadn’t told anyone before, a helpful voice in the back of his mind volunteered.

“I’m not very good at promotion, as you might imagine. So I usually just store the copies somewhere safe, where no one can find them. Or return them to Hannah.”

Dean blinked slowly, his jaw dropping. “Wait. Are you seriously trying to tell me…? God. You can’t be. Really? Are you…”

Cas swallowed and lifted his chin, forcing himself to meet Dean’s gaze. “In addition to my academic works, I also write some fiction,” he said, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst right through his chest. He’d read that phrase so many times, thought it rather over the top and exaggerated, but in this moment it felt real. “The fiction, frankly, pays immensely better than the academia. But it’s not something I’ve ever shared with anyone other than my editor. No one else knows this, Dean. No one.”

“Fuck, you’re Steven Emmanuel.” Dean reached behind himself to support himself with one hand on the wall. “And this is the first book in the new trilogy I’ve been dying to read. Months before it’s actually released. Shit, Cas. I can’t believe this.”

The intensity was too much for Cas, so he shrugged a shoulder and turned away from Dean, looking out one of the windows towards the stream that ran through the property. He ran a finger over the frame of the window, thinking it was very smooth. “I hope it lives up to the anticipation you’ve been harboring,” he finally managed to say, pushing the words past the lump in his throat.

He was terrified, he realized. Terrified that telling this to Dean would change things between them.

“I have no doubt that it will.” Cas heard a slight movement, steps on the wooden floor, and then he felt Dean’s warmth just behind him, before Dean lightly brushed his fingers over Cas’ sleeve. “Thank you. You really haven’t told anyone else? Not even Gabriel?”

“Not even Gabriel,” Cas confirmed. “What no one knew, they wouldn’t be able to try to take from me.” He released a shuddering breath, made a quarter turn so that he was partially facing Dean. “It was hard enough for my family to accept my writing about dry ancient texts. I can only imagine what Michael and Luc would think of speculative fiction, especially… especially with the direction this series is going.”

Dean brought the book to his chest, unconsciously cradling it, protecting it. “Michael and Luc are idiots.”

“Actually they’re quite brilliant, they —”

“No, Cas,” Dean interrupted him. “People can be intellectually gifted and still be idiots, to not see what was right in front of their nose this whole time. They’re idiots. And assholes.”

Cas didn’t know what more to say to that. He simply looked at Dean, briefly, then away. Sometimes looking at Dean was just too painful. He was so… so beautiful, and Cas was afraid that one of these days his feelings would be too obvious.

“At any rate, the book is yours. Please read it at your leisure. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I know I will. Damn, do you know how hard it’s going to be to finish up working this afternoon, knowing that’s here?”

“You could just take the afternoon off,” Cas suggested.

“No, can’t do that. Or… well. Could I time shift? Would you be okay with me coming over on Saturday?”

Cas chuckled at that. “Yes, of course. My schedule is quite open. You know that.”

 * * *

Dean devoured the book, staying up until 3 a.m., his eyes burning and his shoulders aching from his bad posture as he read, but he couldn’t put it down. There were no doubts — this was a genuine, authentic Steven Emmanuel book. The style was unmistakable, the characterizations like coming home to old friends.

Cas was Steven Emmanuel.

Wow. It was so hard to wrap his head around that. Cas, his shy, awkward friend, was capable of writing like this? Capable of writing snappy dialog, great plots, and amazing characters? One of the things that Dean had always loved about his Emmanuel books was the way the plot didn’t overwhelm the characters. Some SFF he’d read, too much of it, the authors were so enamored of the world they created that they forgot that in the end, people were people, and to connect to the story, it helped to connect to the characters, not just be enthralled with the setting.

Cas managed to do both. Rich worlds, rich characters with a stunning depth of emotion.

That? That was amazing, considering Castiel’s own reticence and hesitation to share so much as an amused chuckle to give away his own feelings about any particular subject. He’d always suspected that Cas was a very complicated character, behind that stoic mask he showed to the world.

These books proved it.

If he’d thought he was in trouble before, it was worse now.

This was so much more than attraction, than desire. Cas was the most amazing person he’d ever met. Being with him made Dean feel things he hadn’t felt before, a level of contentment and satisfaction that he’d never even dreamed of.

The fact that the guy was hot as hell didn’t hurt, either.


	20. Chapter 20

It was a small dinner party, but it was a dinner party. Cas was hosting a dinner party, at Dean’s apartment. Sam, Jessica, and Mariel were to join them. He alternated between panic and pride.

This would be so much easier if he waited until his kitchen was complete. Then he would be in his own space, with all of the beautiful new appliances installed. He’d have the professional-quality stovetop with six burners, including an indoor grilling surface. The tools he had to work with in Dean’s tiny apartment made everything so much more complicated — but not impossible. He wanted to do it now, though. He didn’t want to wait.

This was to be a celebration of sorts, and a heartfelt thank you. Sam and Jody Mills, between the two of them, had managed to tie the arsonist to Lucifer. With Gabriel’s insight helping him pinpoint his elder brothers’ weak spots, Sam had not only gotten the two of them to back off on the issue of Great Aunt Hester’s bequest, but had even managed to get Cas and Gabriel unencumbered rights to their own share of the family wealth. For the first time ever, Cas didn’t have to submit requests for a distribution through his brothers, but only had to log in to his account and make a transfer.

That? That was breathtaking.

Cas didn’t exactly need the money, not with his modest lifestyle and the income from his work, but as Gabriel put it, it was the principle of the thing. He was an adult, and just because he’d been the victim of domestic abuse and it was taking him some time to learn how to work through the complicated issues it left behind, that didn’t mean he was incompetent and couldn’t manage his own affairs.

If he wanted to, he could use the money to support various causes that were important to him.

He wanted the dinner to go well. The Winchesters, all of them, had been welcoming and understanding of his challenges fitting in to this new community. Dean had given him free use of his own home while Cas’ house was undergoing construction. They’d never once made him feel that they thought he was weird or eccentric. They made him truly feel for the first time that what had happened to him wasn’t his fault and didn’t make him a lesser person.

All of that was overwhelming. He didn’t know how to properly thank them, but he could make them dinner. Hopefully they’d understand at least a little of what that meant.

Cas was carefully checking the roast chicken when he heard the rumble of Dean’s baby coming down the street. He looked out the window, watching as the sun glinted off of the shining black of her paint and the polished chrome trim. Dean did an excellent job maintaining the classic car.

He pulled up in front of the garage and unfolded himself from behind the wheel. Cas unconsciously licked his lips. Dean was wearing a pair of worn jeans that hugged his ass and thighs just so and looked soft enough to touch. Over that he wore a simple black tee, untucked, that stretched slightly across the breadth of his shoulders;

It looked good. Far too good.

A moment later he was coming in through the apartment’s front door. “Heya, Cas,” Dean called out a greeting, carrying a grocery bag. “I know you said you had everything you needed, but there was a produce stand on the corner of the park, and I couldn’t resist. I bought a watermelon. They were giving away samples, and it was amazing. Watermelon is pretty boring if it’s not ripe enough, but get it at optimum ripeness? So good.” He carried his bag over the small but beautifully crafted dining table.

“I am rather fond of watermelon myself. Thank you. Set it on the table? I’ll get a knife later to cut it up.

Sam, Jess and Mariel arrived a short time later. Mariel looked adorable wearing a pair of light blue overalls with a light green polka-dot top under it. She had two fingers in her mouth when they walked through the door, but pulled them out immediately when she saw Dean, and started bouncing in Sam’s arms. “De de! De de!”

Dean grinned and swept her into his arms, lifting her high overhead. “Hey there, Peanut! Good to see you, too. Love you.” He blew a raspberry against the underside of her chin. She giggled.

Cas smiled. There were few sounds quite as delightful as a small child’s laughter. His heart warmed.

“Come say hi to Cas, Peanut.” Dean flew her over to Cas.

“Dean, you’ll alarm her,” Cas protested, but his protest died away when she grinned at him and made grabby hands in his direction.

Cas’ eyes went wide. Seriously? He looked from Dean to Sam to Jess, then back to Mariel, who was getting impatient.

“Incoming,” Dean said, then handed her over.

“Oh. Well. Hello, Mariel. It is very lovely to see you again.”

She patted at his face.

“You go ahead and bounce her a little,” Dean said. “I can finish up the meal. It’s almost done, just needs to get put out on the table, yeah?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Jess laughed, coming over to pat Cas on the shoulder. “She likes you.”

“It appears so,” he agreed, bemused. “Well. That’s excellent, since I like her as well.”

Soon they were all seated and eating dinner, Mariel placed in a booster seat between Sam and Jessica. The conversation deliberately avoided any mention of the would-be arsonist at Cas’ house.

“I saw Aaron today,” Sam eventually said. “I was picking up some more diapers for Mariel when he came into the general store.”

“Yeah? I didn’t know he was back in town.” Dean took a sip of his drink, casting a quick glance at Cas. “How’s he doing?”

“He looked great. Said he was in town to see his grandpa. He had his fiancé with him. I hadn’t known he was engaged, did you?”

“Mm, no, but I’d heard he was serious with this guy. Max, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Sam turned towards Cas. “Aaron Bass is a friend of ours from high school. He was actually between me and Dean in school, a year behind Dean. Great guy. He spent a lot of time hanging out at our place.”

Dean gave Sam a hard look which Cas didn’t quite understand. What would be the issue with Sam explaining more about who Aaron was?

“He asked about your place, actually,” Sam continued, either oblivious to the looks Dean was sending him or pretending to be. Cas would wager on the latter. Sam was, in his experience, extremely observant.

“Why would he ask about my house?”

“He said he’d spent a little time on the property when he was in high school, had fond memories of the place. He was glad to hear that it was getting fixed up.”

“If you see him again, please express my thanks for his well wishes.” Cas could have Sam pass on that sort of wish. He was grateful to not have to do it himself. He still didn’t much care for meeting new people, especially those who would be gone before he could blink. There was far too much stress around that.

“I’ll do that.”

 * * *

Dean joined Cas in the living room with a beer after dinner, which had been a great success. They were mildly buzzed; far from drunk, but tipsy enough for lowered inhibitions. Dean smiled a faint, sad smile, something distant in his eyes.

“You’re thinking,” Cas observed. Something about that look made him ache. The atmosphere was breathless, as though something were building just out of sight.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, shaking himself. “It’s not important. Just… thinking.”

“Ah.” Cas could understand and relate. He was just thinking too.

Something about the dinner conversation had been niggling at him all night long, and now, finally, he thought he’d pieced it together.

He might be wrong. If he was wrong, he’d be mortified. Maybe if he phrased it just right, at least the mortification would be solely on his part, and he could avoid embarrassing Dean. It was a risk, but now, suddenly, it felt like an important risk to take.

He cleared his throat. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Cas swallowed. He wasn’t really going to do this, was he? But he had to. “I, uh. Well. Um. No. It’s not important.”

Dean took a sip from his beer, then set it down and leaned slightly forward. “Know what? Whenever I’ve heard someone say ‘it’s not important’ like that? Turns out it’s actually really important. What is it?”

Cas shivered. Dean’s voice had gone even lower than usual, with a faint growl to it that slid down his spine, curved around his hips, and settled low.

“I… I’ve been thinking, about something you said a while ago. About… Erin. Or at least, I’d thought it was Erin. E-r-i-n,” he spelled the name out. “But then, tonight, you and Sam were talking about Aaron, which was clearly an A-a-r-o-n. Are they two different people? Or the same?”

A spark flared in Dean’s gaze. “Same person. And yeah, Aaron’s a guy. Never even occurred to me that it sounds just like the girl name. I thought… Well. Huh. So for the sake of clarity… I’m bi. Equal opportunity kind of a guy.” He quirked a cocky grin, but it slid off his face almost immediately.

Cas couldn’t breathe. His eyes went wide, staring at Dean for a long moment before he flushed and looked away. “Oh.”

Dean picked at the seam of his jeans. “What kind of an ‘oh’ is that? The ‘oh’ bisexuality is gross kind of an ‘oh’? Or a ‘my world just shifted on its axis’ kind of an ‘oh’?”

“More the latter. Give me a moment, please.” Shifted and started spinning.

Dean was bi. Which meant that although Dean found ladies attractive, he was also attracted to men.

He wasn’t inherently off limits.

And oh God, oh God, how was he supposed to deal with the sudden realization that something he’d firmly held away as being impossible wasn’t so impossible after all?

He stole a sideways glance at Dean, who had picked his beer bottle up again and started peeling the label off of the amber glass. Oddly, that nervous gesture helped Cas to feel more grounded. “Does Sam know?”

“Oh hell yeah. I think Sam knew before I did, honestly. He says I always talked more about Han Solo than Princess Leia, even after the infamous bikini scene. He actually set me up with Aaron. Aaron of the masculine variety, who is actually a really cool dude even if we decided it wasn’t going to work out long term. We’re still friends, and that’s a bit of a novelty, staying friends with an ex. It’s nice, though.”

“If it’s not too personal, may I ask why you decided it wouldn’t work?”

“It’s not too personal. I mean, sure it’s personal, but you’re allowed.” Dean blew out his breath, then shrugged one shoulder. “It wasn’t any one thing. Just… lack of a spark? If I imagined my life five years from now, I didn’t automatically picture Aaron without making an effort to do so.”

“Do you believe there needs to be a ‘spark’ for a relationship to be good?”

“I don’t know, man. I mean, the spark should be there at least at first, don’t you think? Whether the spark comes first or the friendship comes first, there should be a spark at some point.”

“Hm. A spark, as you put it, is nice. If by that you mean a fizzle of excitement whenever you see the other person, and a happiness just to be with them.”

“Yeah, that. Plus, you know, good old sexual desire.”

Cas nodded with an overabundance of dignity. “Yes. Good old sexual desire.”

“Cas. Cas, dude, don’t look at me like that. Not unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you mean it,” Dean whispered. “I can only take so much.”

Cas took a sip of his beer, needing it as a delaying tactic. His pulse was fast and erratic, his arousal low and hot. “Unless I mean what?” he asked, his voice roughened. “Unless I mean that I find you sexually attractive? Because yes, I do.” Lord, he couldn’t believe he was admitting to this, but somehow the words were pouring out without conscious direction. “How could I not? You are a beautiful man, Dean Winchester, both inside and out. You are kind and understanding and loyal to a fault, generous and patient. And, obviously, there’s your physical appearance. Surely you know you have the kind of face that artists dream of.”

Somewhere in the back of Cas’ mind a voice was screaming in mortification at the total lack of a filter right now.

Dean turned a beguiling shade of rose.

“Yes, that. That right there. You blush beautifully. It makes your eyes stand out even more, and you have the most beautiful eyes.”

“No, gotta disagree with you there, Cas. You ever look in a mirror? How is that shade of blue even real?”

It was Cas’ turn to be struck dumb.

He and Dean stared at each other for uncounted moments that felt endless. Cas let his gaze drop to Dean’s mouth, to his generous lower lip that looked so soft, so delicious.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned. “Cas.” He reached out to touch Cas’ face, his hand trembling slightly. “Is… is this okay?”

“Yes, Dean. This is very much okay.”

Dean laughed, an incredulous sound speaking of his disbelief that this was really happening. Somehow that made Cas feel better. If both of them felt this was surreal, if seemed the odds of it being real were that much better.

The laughter faded. Dean leaned forward, his face filling more and more of Cas’ vision, until his lips brushed over Cas’, so light and airy that Cas wasn’t even sure he’d felt anything. He made a sound of protest when Dean pulled back again.

Dean laughed, a chuckle that was both amused and a little disbelieving, then dipped back in again for another kiss, firmer this time. His hand slid up his shoulder to curve around the back of Cas’ neck, fingers drifting over the short hairs there.

After a long, dazzling moment, Dean leaned back once more, met Cas’ gaze. His green eyes were soft, his pupils wide. His lips were flushed and even more plump than usual. Cas felt a jolt slide through his body, leaving tingles in its wake.

“We should… damn, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… we should take a raincheck on this. It’s too important to do when we’re both a little tipsy.”

“I’m far from drunk, Dean.”

“Yeah, I get that, but… but it stands. If we do this — and I definitely want to do this — I want to be absolutely certain that you’re into it. Full consent, all that.”

Cas narrowed his gaze at Dean. “Is this because of my situation with Bartholomew?” he demanded.

Dean actually grinned at that. “Look at you, getting all smitey and everything. I like it. It’s a good look on you.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

The grin faded but didn’t entirely disappear. “Fair enough. And… yes, at least partially. Look, dude, I don’t know all the details but I know enough to know that was one fucked up situation, and I have absolutely no intention of doing anything that even faintly resembles what he did to you, all right? We do this, things change. I need to be completely sure you’re really on board with those changes, not just tipsy enough that you let your downstairs brain do the thinking.”

Cas scowled even more fiercely, but… well. “Why do you have to be responsible when I don’t want you to be?”

The grin came back at full wattage. “Because deep down inside, you do want me to be. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” He patted Cas’ arm affectionately. “I mean, I’ll be a disaster until then, and I’ll probably throw myself into a full-blown panic attack before then, but still. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“So I won’t be the only one suffering from anxiety?”

“Not by a long shot.”

 * * *

When he’d gotten home, Dean threw himself back on his recliner, putting his arm over his eyes and groaning. He knew he was being dramatic, but damn. He definitely knew himself.

Anxiety kept him up most of the night, though he thought he might have gotten a little sleep now and then. Once the sun rose, he hauled himself out of the chair and sought something, anything, to occupy himself. Scrubbing down the kitchen counters, mopping the floor, getting down on his hands and knees to reach into those little corners that usually got ignored… anything.

He waited until nine o’clock the next morning before he texted Cas to see if he was up. He was, so Dean headed over — after changing into his best pair of jeans and a flannel so new it still bore traces of the folds from the packaging. Part of him wanted to run, but this was too important.

Cas had kissed him back. He had. So this wasn’t all one sided.

He just … yeah. It might not be one sided, but that didn’t mean Cas actually wanted to do anything about it. That was the whole reason he’d pulled back last night.

He parked and headed up the steps of the front porch, not letting himself give in to the nerves.

He pressed the doorbell firmly, listening to the chime inside, smiling slightly at the melody. Cas had insisted he wanted something far more interesting than the usual ‘ding dong’ sound — so he bought a door chime that played the opening bars of the Minute Waltz.

Cas opened the door a moment later. His hair was disheveled, his eyes perhaps too wide, but he was freshly shaven, and wearing that pair of jeans that looked insanely good on his ass. He also wore a slouchy blue sweater, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

It was a good look on him. Very… writerly.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, all too aware of the little crack in his voice.

“Hello, Dean.” He shook himself then, opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Please, come in. Have… have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Nope. Just a mug of coffee. That doesn’t really count, does it?”

“No. Not really. No calories, no nutrition. Just caffeine. Did you actually need more jitters?”

“Well, no. But it’s what I do. I make coffee, I drink coffee. It’s something to do with my hands.”

Cas led the way back to the dining room. “How much longer before I’ll be able to cook in my kitchen? It looks like it’s getting close.”

“Yeah, it is.” He looked at Cas. “Do you want to help with the final installation? I know you don’t have any experience with it, but I can show you what needs to be done. Sometimes people like to have a hand in it themselves. Other times they just want to lock themselves up in their office tower and have it get done all on their own. I have a feeling you’d like to do a little bit. Have a hand in it yourself.”

“Could I do that?” Cas looked hopeful. “Without ruining anything?”

“I wouldn’t give you anything that couldn’t be fixed easily, in the unlikely event you didn’t do a great job with it.”

“Then… we’ll talk about that.” He moved to the cupboard where he kept some food for the moment. Cas might not have a full kitchen at his disposal right now, but he still managed to do a good job with limited resources. He could do things with a microwave and electric grill that amazed Dean.

He toasted some English muffins, melted some Cheddar cheese on them and made microwave scrambled eggs. They were… well, not as good as stovetop scrambled eggs, maybe, but far better than Dean would have expected.

“We are not here to discuss the remodel right now, though,” Cas said, squaring his shoulders, meeting Dean’s gaze across the table. “We are here to discuss last night.”

That determination and forthrightness was, quite frankly, _hot_.

Dean tried to suppress a shiver in response.”Yeah. Last night.”

“And your noble, if misguided, determination to be responsible and considerate.”

“Noble if misguided, huh?”

“I believe that is what I said.”

Misguided. Dean felt a warmth curl through him. Cas was looking all grumpy and adorable, which he strongly suspected was a front to cover the nerves, which if they were half as bad as Dean’s had to be eating him up alive right now.

“Yeah. I believe it is what you said, too.” He started to take a sip of his coffee, then set the mug down again without touching it to his lips.

Cas nodded once, with determination. “Very well, then. We deferred an important conversation last night. And ended an enjoyable activity because of it.”

An enjoyable activity. Damn, this guy made everything so much better.

“We did,” Dean agreed. “Because there is going to be absolutely no question from any side whether or not I took advantage of you in a vulnerable state. And being tipsy counts as being vulnerable.”

“I was only just tipsy enough to let myself admit that I want what I want.” Cas’ gaze dropped to Dean’s mouth. That, all by itself, was enough for Dean’s lips to start tingling, remembering the pleasure of kissing Cas.

He cleared his throat. “Are you still tipsy?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t continue drinking after you left. Are you? Still tipsy?” he clarified.

“Hell no.”

“Then there is only one question. Do you still want to kiss me?”

“Jumping right into it, huh?”

“Yes. You haven’t answered.”

Dean chuckled in disbelief. “All right. Yes. Yes, I still want to kiss you. Have for a long time.” Since they’d first met, if he was honest, but that kind of honesty he still held on to, unsure if it would scare Cas off or not.

“I have also wanted you to kiss me for a long time. And to kiss you. So.” He took a breath and stepped forward, placing one hand on Dean’s cheek. “May I?” His gaze dropped to Dean’s mouth, then rose back to his eyes.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, Cas. You may.”

Cas leaned in, touching his mouth to Dean’s. Last night there had been the taste of alcohol on Cas’ lips, pleasant but vaguely disturbing at the same time. This morning the only flavor was the mint of Cas’ toothpaste, and the unmistakable taste of Cas himself.

Dean’s fingers took hold of the front of Cas’ shirt, tightening involuntarily as he made a small noise in the back of his throat. Cas chuckled and pressed forward, harder, opening his mouth and catching Dean’s lower lip between his teeth, nipping lightly.

Heat surged, and Dean surged with it. Cas was no innocent virgin, it suddenly dawned on him. He knew that, of course he did. He’d known Cas was in a relationship for years, had lived with Bartholomew, clearly slept with him. He was experienced. And yet his shyness, his reticence, had led Dean to expect a certain tentativeness in his kisses.

He’d never been so glad to be wrong.


	21. Chapter 21

Cas frowned at his monitor, unable to concentrate on the words dancing across his screen. Normally he had little difficulty keeping his focus on his writing; he knew to allow himself occasional short breaks where he looked out his windows, seeing what was new and different that day. Sometimes it was the particular color and formation of the clouds in the sky. Other times it was a hawk circling in the sky, looking for some sort of prey.

But today he couldn’t concentrate, because Dean was putting the last touches in the new kitchen. Cas had protested that he wanted to help. He’d helped a few times, now. He knew how to square a kitchen cabinet, though he doubted he’d do a good job if he needed to do the entire job rather than just assisting Dean. He knew how to lay a tile floor using spacers, and how to apply grout.

Dean insisted that he stay away. “Just for now, Cas. I want to do the cleaning up so the first time you see it finished, it’s all sparkling. Please?”

It was the ‘please’ that did it. Cas grumbled, but left and headed upstairs to his turret office.

He heard the occasional nailing and sawing and vacuum cleaner, along with various thumps and bumps — even the occasional curse — over the sound of the speakers playing classic rock at a volume loud enough to disguise most of the sounds. He could pull out the noise-cancelling headphones, but he found he actually liked those sounds, reminding him that Dean was there.

Dean was here quite often, actually, after that first kiss. Despite Cas’ trepidation, everything was astonishingly easy. Being with Dean had always been easy. It was a relief to learn that evolving their relationship into something physical didn’t take that away. It only added to it. Dean was a revelation. He didn’t make unilateral decisions about important things. He asked Cas’ opinion. He didn’t always take it, but he took it into consideration, and sometimes he changed his mind based on what Cas said.

That sounded so simple, but after years with Bartholomew, Cas was only just beginning to not react every time with surprise.

Finally, after three solid hours, Dean knocked on the frame of his open door, looking tired but satisfied. He grinned, and Cas’ heart flipped.

It wasn’t fair that he had such a stunning smile. Every damned time, Dean’s grin sucked the breath right out of Cas’ lungs.

“Ready, whenever you’re at a good stopping point.”

Cas saved his work and stood. “I have been ready for hours,” he complained.

“It’ll be worth it. I hope.” Dean’s smile faltered a little, then brightened again, but there was a definite edge of nervousness.

Cas moved to Dean and touched his shoulder, allowing his fingers to briefly caress his neck before sliding down his arm and away. “Show me your final work, then.” He leaned in and brushed a kiss against his cheek, still feeling a little flutter of pleasure that he was allowed to do this.

Dean nodded, turned and headed down the stairs. Cas hung back enough to watch, enjoying the view.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Dean said when they got to the hallway leading to the kitchen, before the turn that took them into the room.

“Closed,” Cas informed him, eyes obediently shut. Dean took him by the hand, lacing their fingers together. Cas could feel the rapid flutter of Dean’s pulse against his own fingers. He didn’t quite understand why Dean should be nervous about this. Cas had watched the progression of the kitchen every step of the way, and delighted in the transformation.

He’d seen how wonderful the large windows overlooking the garden were, with the transom windows above the ones that opened to catch the breeze and let the fragrance of the flowers and grasses inside. He’d felt his heart swell the first time he stepped onto his new patio, imagining the table and chairs he’d add, the grill as well, perhaps a water feature nearby so that he could listen to the sound of falling water. He’d helped to muscle the new appliances in place, handing Dean his tools as he installed them.

The only thing left was installing the cupboard doors and cleaning everything.

His shoulder brushed against the door frame as he stepped through, feeling the transition from the wood floor of the hallway to the stone of the kitchen. Dean positioned him in a corner he knew was beyond the island, by the windows, facing in.

“Okay. You can open your eyes.”

Cas took an extra moment before he did so.

He saw it immediately. The cupboard doors had been installed, and virtually glowed with the light pouring in from the windows, rich cherry, warm and inviting. They had a subtle detail carved into the corners of each panel — a lightly etched honeycomb pattern, fading away so that it was there but not dominating. A vase filled with bright, bold sunflowers sat on the island counter.

And the panel in the center of the vent hood had been replaced. No longer was it a simple piece of stained wood. Now? Now it was a beautiful piece of carved art, bas relief, a design of honeycomb and flowers and two exquisitely worked bees.

He gasped, pulled forward. Everything else faded away the moment he saw the piece. “Dean,” he whispered reverently. “This is beautiful. Did you carve this?”

“Yeah. I hope you like it?”

He turned then, at the uncertainty in his boyfriend’s tone. Dean was scratching the back of his neck, a gesture he commonly employed when he was nervous about something. Shy uncertainty was an appealing look on him, but the fact that Dean thought there was any room for doubt about Cas’ reaction? That wasn’t so appealing.

Cas took a large step forward and wrapped his arms around Dean, hugging him tightly, surprised to feel the sting of tears in his eyes. “It’s amazing,” he said, voice thick. “I can’t believe you crafted something so beautiful for me. It’s perfect. It must have taken you a very long time.”

“It took some time, yeah,” Dean admitted, his arms sliding around Cas, too. “Worth it. I hoped you’d approve.”

“I do. I approve very, very much. It is art.” He kissed Dean then, hard and fierce. “I love it.” He stepped back a half step, still holding him. Took a deep breath, nodded, held Dean’s gaze, his blue blue eyes looking deep into Dean’s soul. “I love this kitchen, that you have spent so much time and effort making into a haven for me. I love that you carved a piece of art for me that I will be able to see every day, and every time I see it, I will think of how much time you spent working on it, thinking of me and wanting to make something for me that I would love, simply because you knew I would love it. I think, Dean Winchester, that this is the way you show people that they matter to you.

“Bartholomew… Bartholomew never gave of himself. He took, and took, and took some more, making it seem as though I was the one who was at fault when he wasn’t able to take any more. He made me feel as though I was constantly failing, that nothing I did was good enough, and somehow he made me believe that pleasing him was something I should want.

“You… Dean.” Cas reached up to wipe away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t embarrassed by them. This? This was a good, healthy emotion.

This was everything.

“You? You give of yourself, not just to me, but to all of Caroline. You’re the one people call when they need help with something, and you’re always there to give it. You’ve turned this place into the house of the dreams I never knew I had. That’s what you do for a living, of course. But this?” He flicked his gaze to the panel. “This is just for me. I think… I think that there is only one thing more that I would ask of you.”

Dean’s eyes were suspiciously moist as well. “Just one?” he said, his voice gruff.

Cas smiled. “For now. You’ve made this a beautiful house. Would… would you make it a beautiful home, as well? Live here. With me. Share my life.”

He was both terrified and thrilled to say those words, to see Dean hear them.

To watch his face transform as they registered, to see joy brighten his beautiful green eyes, a flush of pleasure color his cheeks.

“Hell yes.”


End file.
